


Living a lie

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, HP: EWE, Infidelity, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Snakes, Swearing, pet shop owner Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-01 15:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10924392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: Harry enjoys a quiet life, working in his pet store, hanging out with friends, revolutionising wizarding animal care. Then along comes Draco. Harry is shocked to run into him after 10 years, but he's even more shocked to learn the identity of his girlfriend.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry looked up from his plate of nibbles and tried to focus his attention back on the desiccated elderly witch in front of him. Nibbles. Who did they think was attending this benefit? Rodents? What a ridiculous name for food. He looked morosely back down at his plate and took a brief inventory: A handful of small savoury biscuits, a couple of sausage rolls, a few chunks of probably-cheese on sticks, and couscous. Whose bright idea was it to include couscous on a finger-buffet?

The night hadn’t been a complete waste of time though. An awful lot of money and, more importantly awareness had been raised for the cause, and Harry was glad to get the chance to catch up with Bill Weasley. He’d initially been surprised to see Bill until he remembered that it was a benefit for WRAW (Werewolf Rights And Welfare)— but one lavishly decorated ballroom looked very much like the next, so Harry sometimes found it hard to remember which event he was at. 

Bill had mentioned that Ginny was here somewhere, but Harry was in no rush to run into her. Even though they had broken up eight years ago (disappointing the entirety of the wizarding world, if the papers were to be believed), they still hadn't managed to move past the anger of their break up and return to the easy friendship they’d had before things turned sour. Perhaps if she hadn't cheated on him, ripped his heart out, and then trampled all over it, Harry thought, he might be more inclined to be friends with her again. It would certainly make things less awkward at the Burrow on the handful of Sundays Ginny actually turned up, but they managed to be civil, if nothing else. Harry’s stubborn streak wouldn’t allow him to extend the first olive branch, so unless Ginny made the first move (highly unlikely) they were stuck in not-quite-friends-but-still-forced-to-hang-out limbo.

He sighed and checked the large clock at the far end of the ballroom. 9pm. Still too early to justify leaving. He was only 28 and already he'd rather get an early night than stay up partying. At least he hadn't been expected to do much except turn up, say a few words, and show his face for a bit to encourage the wealthy to part with their galleons. He reckoned he could probably be home and in bed by 10:30; 11 at the latest. These benefits got dull quickly, even when he was actually passionate about the cause. Always the same people, always trying to curry his favour, like his opinion even mattered. He should just sell his name to the highest bidder and let them do with it what they liked. He could become Bob. Bob Smith. Something unremarkable and ordinary. 

“...Don’t you think, dear?”

The old harridan’s voice filtered back into focus and Harry suddenly realised he had forgotten to listen, again. He scrabbled around for an acceptable excuse. He didn’t want to appear rude, no matter how tiresome the woman was.

“Er, I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” He asked, his tone as apologetic as he could muster. The old woman frowned and started to draw herself up. Anticipating a verbal lashing involving the phrases ‘youth of today’, ‘rude young man’, and ‘in my day’, Harry hastily searched for something conciliatory to add. 

“You see, I was mesmerised by your, ah—” What? Why did he start with that? What could he say that wouldn’t make him sound like a granny-chasing pervert. “—Earrings!” Good save. “Yes, your earrings, they’re absolutely, ah, mesmerising.” 

The old woman preened at the vague compliment. “Oh my, aren’t you just a delightful young man.” She giggled. Giggled! Harry hoped his shudder wasn’t obvious. “My Albert could have learned a thing or two from you, rest his soul. As I was saying, my Juniper’s daughter is a rare beauty. She’s kind, generous, and stunningly beautiful. Like a diamond, though not as sharp—” She laughed at her own wit “—but what does that matter when you’ll be the envy of all your friends with her on your arm? And just think of how beautiful your children will be. You’re not getting any younger, you know.” She winked at him as if he was in on the joke.

Harry’s eyes had got progressively wider during the woman’s spiel. It was over 10 years since the war, after which his life had somehow become public property, even more so than when he was at school, and he had never gotten used to well-meaning people interfering in his love-life. Apparently, the idea of him being single and just enjoying himself was anathema to some people.

The woman was watching him expectantly. Harry sighed, and prepared to give her his usual polite, yet dismissive response, unwilling to make an enemy of an elderly witch who just wanted her nice-but-dim granddaughter to start popping out Saviour-sired kids. Everyone needed their dreams. 

As he opened his mouth to speak, however, something caught his eye from across the other side of the ballroom. A flash of platinum blond hair that instantly set his heart racing and thrust him back to his school days. He’d not seen hair that colour in, well, years. Not since the trials during those hazy months after the war, in fact. Harry narrowed his eyes, squinting at the crowd, willing them to part. It couldn’t really be _him_ , could it? 

The last Harry had heard, after being acquitted, Malfoy had moved to somewhere in mainland Europe with his mother and Harry had not heard anything more since. Not that he’d had spent a great deal of time thinking about that blonde-haired prat and what he was up to, but surely he’d have heard about it if he’d moved back to England? He was the sole reason Malfoy and his mother were even free to go swanning off around Europe doing fuck knows what for ten years. 

Ron would have heard something, for sure. He was a fairly important Auror, after all. And if he had heard something about Draco fucking Malfoy returning to England, then he would definitely have told his best mate about it. Besides, this was a benefit for Werewolf Welfare. What the fuck would sodding _Malfoy_ — he couldn’t even think the name without sneering —be doing at a benefit for werewolves, of all creatures. Maybe if it was a benefit for pureblood elitist pricks he would be less surprised.

Harry felt his heart rate return to normal (when had it started racing so fast?) as he convinced himself that he had been mistaken. He couldn’t completely relax though. Not when there was still the possibility that _Malfoy_ was wandering about somewhere nearby.

“Mr Potter? Have you decided how you’ll be wooing my darling granddaughter?” 

He whipped his head round and was momentarily confused by the presence of the elderly witch in front of him. Her watery eyes fixed him with a pointed glare, as if daring him to deny her request. 

To hell with politeness, Harry thought, his brain now far too focused on his schoolyard nemesis to be concerned about maintaining a positive relationship with someone who looked like they wouldn’t live out the night.

“I’m sure she’s lovely, but as you’ve no doubt heard, I’m rather gay. Have been for a while now, actually. I’m sure the _‘Harry Potter: The Boy Who Came Out’_ special edition of the Prophet is still available as a back issue if you need clarification. And even if I wasn’t a raging queer, there is still no way I’d woo your granddaughter. Thank you, it’s been a pleasure.” He strode past her without even a backward glance, tossing his plate on a nearby table and resolutely ignoring her indignant spluttering, as he pressed his way through the crowd, searching for that familiar white-blonde hair.

\------

The ballroom was heaving with people. If anything, it had seemed to get more crowded as the night progressed. Harry had searched for Malfoy for almost half an hour and still had not caught even a glimpse of him. It confirmed his earlier belief that he’d been mistaken, but he still couldn’t bring himself to give up. It had to have been Malfoy. There was surely no one, except perhaps Malfoy’s father, who shared that colouration. No adult male anyway; and it had definitely been a man, hadn’t it? Harry groaned and scrubbed his hands frustratedly over his face. He resolved to give it until ten, that allowed him another twenty minutes or so to search; Another twenty minutes during which he could ignore the reasons why he was so desperate to establish whether or not Malfoy was here.

“Harry! I’m so pleased you were able to make it this evening. Your speech was spot on, as usual.” The Minister for Magic clapped Harry heavily on one shoulder in greeting, almost toppling him. He had drunk enough that his usual dour expression had lightened, but he didn’t seem too inebriated. Was he even allowed to get drunk at these things? Would it constitute ‘drinking on the job’? Harry shook his head to clear the jumble of pointless thoughts and shuffle Malfoy to the back of his head before addressing the Minister.

“Kingsley, it’s good to see you. How’s that kneazle-cross treating you? Still running circles around the lot of you?” One thing Harry had realised since he started running a pet shop was that people liked to talk about their animals almost as much as they liked talking about their kids. And in talking about their pets, people revealed all sorts of details about their lives they might not have revealed had they not been discussing their pets’ antics. He knew, for example, that Kingsley’s wife had a kneazle-cross called Smithers who had, until recently, displaced the Minister from his own bed. Kingsley had brought the animal to one of the drop-in pet-therapy sessions Harry held at Magical Menagerie absolutely desperate for a solution. 

“Yes, of course!” Kingsley laughed. It was a deep, booming sound that Harry felt resonate through his whole body. “If only all of life’s problems could be solved by a vastly expensive bespoke kneazle bed.” 

Harry grinned. He knew that the Minister loved Smithers, despite how much he joked about him taking over his house and stealing all his wife’s affection.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get on. I’m sure I’ll see you at the shop again before too long.” Kingsley said, punctuating his goodbye with another bone-rattling shoulder-clap. This was one of the reason’s Harry liked the Minister so much; He never wasted his time with meaningless chatter. “Oh, I almost forgot, I ran into one of your old school acquaintances earlier. Malfoy. I’m sure you must remember him. He certainly looks like he’s doing well for himself.” The Minister smiled cryptically, and the disappeared into the crowd before Harry could fully process what he’d said.

Harry blinked and replayed the Minister’s last words in his head. _‘I’m sure you must remember him.’_? What the fuck did that mean? There was no way the Minister wasn’t aware of Harry’s history with Malfoy. He doubted there was even a single person in the whole wizarding world who didn’t know about him and Malfoy. Well. At least he knew for sure that Malfoy was here now, so that was something.

He started moving through the crowd again, this time focused on heading for a (hopefully) quiet balcony. He just wanted somewhere he could lie low and avoid having to interact with anyone until it was late enough that he could justify escaping home. Now that he knew for a fact that Malfoy was here, he was suddenly less eager to find him.

\------

The balcony Harry found himself on overlooked the formal garden at the back of the property. It was large enough that even though there were several couples enjoying the quiet, yet chilly atmosphere, he didn’t feel like they were encroaching on his self-imposed isolation. It was still early March, and the air felt distinctly wintry so Harry had to use a warming charm to ensure his teeth didn’t chatter; at least it wasn’t raining though. He leant on the balustrade and watched as people wandered along the gravelled footpaths between fountains, tiny hedges, and dead-eyed statues. Footsteps crunched on gravel, and together with the soft murmur of conversation and muffled strains of a string quartet that floated out through the open doors of the ballroom, it provided a pleasant backdrop to his introspection. Occasionally, a peal of laughter would cut through the peace from the gardens below, and Harry would find his eyes searching out the originators of the sound. 

There was one group in particular that seemed especially merry. He could almost make out individual voices they were so loud. The group was stood at the base of a statue of a woman holding some sort of vegetable, or possibly a baby? Harry couldn’t really tell from his position, but he would have put money on it being a potato. The person who currently held the focus of the group was hidden from Harry’s view by the woman-holding-a-potato statue; all he could see was an occasional flash of hands as they gesticulated wildly. Whoever it was, they had the six other people in the group eating out of their hands. 

And then Harry saw it. A flash of platinum blonde hair as the gesticulating story-teller briefly stepped out of the shadow of the statue. Every muscle in Harry’s body tensed and he couldn't tear his eyes away. It really was him. Malfoy. There was no mistaking that hair, that pointed face, that pale skin, the aristocratic sneer. Harry moved along the balcony to get a better view, and earned himself a few angry glances and muttered curses along the way from the couples he jostled in the process. What he wouldn’t give for an Extendable Ear right now!

From his new vantage point, Harry could clearly see Malfoy. And as much as he hated to admit it, the man looked good. Whatever he'd been up to on the continent, it had obviously agreed with him. He was wearing dark dress robes, this season's style, the cut of which perfectly flattered his tall, lithe frame. His short hair was neatly coiffed, and lacked the slicked back look that had been ever-present in their youth. Most importantly, though, he actually looked happy. Gone was the pale, drawn, hunted look that Harry remembered from their last interaction. Malfoy had seemed just a shell of a person then; now he seemed complete. 

Harry tore his attention from the blonde for a moment to scan his audience. One of them was probably his wife. Harry wondered how many kids Malfoy had, and whether he was raising them to be arrogant little shits, or whether he would break from Malfoy tradition and raise well-rounded individuals. He wondered whether the kids would grow up knowing what their father had been a part of, or whether Malfoy kept that part of his past hidden from everyone.

He was so busy imagining Malfoy’s perfect life with his perfect wife and his perfect offspring, he almost failed to spot the late addition to the small group gathered around him. 

Malfoy paused in his storytelling and glanced at the new arrival as they approached, grinning widely. Harry followed his gaze and suddenly found he couldn’t breathe. It was as if there were steel bands tightening around his chest. He felt light headed and weak, like his legs would suddenly collapse beneath his weight, but he couldn’t look away. It was like watching a broom collision in mid air as he watched the woman he had once thought would be his wife and the mother of his children sidle up to Malfoy, snake an arm around his waist, and press a kiss to his lips. 

Harry was dimly aware of the glass of wine he'd procured at some point slipping out of his grasp to smash on the floor, startling those around him out of their furtive embraces, and splashing his robes with wine and shards of glass. It was Ginny. His Ginny. Hanging off of Malfoy’s arm and gazing into his eyes and caressing his jaw with her fingers. Fingers she had once caressed Harry with. What. The. Fuck.

He felt sick but he couldn't turn away. What were they doing together? How could Ginny do this? She was a beautiful, intelligent, ferocious woman and a successful professional Quidditch player, she could have pretty much anyone she wanted, so what the shitting hell was she doing with Draco sodding Malfoy? 

He watched disbelievingly as his former nemesis and ex-girlfriend exchanged smiles and glances and small affectionate touches, looking every bit like a young couple in love. Enough. He had to leave. He was in imminent danger of decorating the balustrade with the contents of his stomach unless he stopped watching their disgusting display. He stormed off toward the floos, all thoughts of staying at the benefit until it was late enough for him to politely make his excuses were gone. He needed to get home and erase this night from his head.

\------

Within 5 minutes of leaving the balcony, Harry had stumbled out of his floo into his living room. He flopped onto the sofa and accio’d a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, determined to get started immediately on flushing what he'd witnessed from his brain.

“ _You're back early. Where's my snack? You promised me a snack. _”__

__Harry looked up from his bottle and watched the boa slither onto the rug in front of the fire and lift her head up to stare at him._ _

__“ _Shit, sorry Dray, it was a weird night._ ” Harry hissed back, rubbing the hand not occupied with the bottle of whiskey over his face. “ _Your namesake was there. With Ginny. Can you believe it?_ ”_ _

__The boa regarded him silently for a moment. “ _My namesake? The pretty blonde?_ ”_ _

__Harry choked on his mouthful of whiskey “ _The pretty…, er, what!?_ ” _ _

__“ _You said you named me Draco because my scales shine like his hair. Because I’m beautiful like he is._ ”_ _

__Bewildered, Harry could only stare back at his cold-blooded housemate (she refused to be called a ‘pet', insisting that the term demeaned them both). When had he ever called Malfoy beautiful? Draco glared at him haughtily, and then he remembered. He'd told the boa he'd named her Draco because she was beautiful rather than give her the real reason, which was that she was a snarky git who seemed to enjoy winding him up._ _

__Harry smiled at the recollection. “ _Oh yeah, of course. It's just that your beauty outshines his so greatly, I‘d momentarily forgotten. Look, I'm sorry about the snack. They're bad for you anyway. I'll let you hunt in the garden tomorrow to make up for it._ ”_ _

__Apparently placated, the snake slithered away, probably to bask under her heat lamp. Harry slumped back onto his sofa, and it didn’t take long before he fell into a drunken slumber, his head filled with images of Malfoy as a snake, wrapping himself around a cackling Ginny while a gang of elderly witches watched and said what a nice boy he was._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Draco collapsed back onto the large chaise longue in the parlour of his suite and toed his shoes off with a relieved sigh. One of his two cats, a long-haired ginger tom that was more kneazle than cat, was curled up on the rug in front of the fire, resolutely ignoring his presence in the way that only cats can. He’d been worried about how they would cope with their relocation from Monaco to Wiltshire, but they didn’t seem phased at all. They probably appreciated all the extra space they now had; Malfoy Manor was probably fifty times the size of his old apartment. 

He tried and failed to stifle a jaw-crackingly wide yawn. His body may be tired, but his mind was still racing at a mile a minute so there was no way he could turn in just yet. Ginevra had made her excuses and bade him good night as soon as they arrived back, the door to her room in his suite locked shut behind her. 

He had forgotten how exhausting these events could be. Back home, well not home anymore he supposed, but back in Monaco, he'd spent years building his reputation so social events required little to no effort and provided plenty of enjoyment. Here though, it was like starting from scratch, or worse, since he had a rather negative reputation that he needed to knock down before he could start building a new, positive one. Not to mention all the extra effort he had to put in with Ginevra in order for them to pass as a happy and much in love couple. It was thoroughly draining pretending to be straight, despite the company being surprisingly pleasant. 

Draco summoned his elf and requested tea; something to relax him while he waited for his mind to quieten. It was strange sharing his space with someone again. That the person was not only female, but also a Weasley just added to the weirdness. In Monaco, he’d had a pokey little apartment that he’d shared with his long-term boyfriend, Mirko for almost two years. Mirko would pout and call him cruel every time he referred to their home as ‘pokey’, much preferring to refer to it as ‘bijou’. But then, Mirko had grown up in a small house with a large family. If he’d been exposed to Malfoy Manor, he would no doubt have been less polite about their space too. They’d had an awful lot of fun in that small apartment, but unfortunately it hadn’t been enough. He’d eventually tired of Draco’s moods and secrecy, and one perfectly ordinary blue-skyed day had just declared that he was leaving. Draco hadn’t fought it. Perhaps he should have. But no, the end of that relationship had spurred him on to the next step of his life— a return to the place that nearly caused his destruction. 

He was glad of his decision to return though. His work as team healer for the Holyhead Harpies was proving to be challenging enough to maintain his interest, but also left him time for freelance consultations. And he had met Ginevra Weasley, someone he would never have imagined getting on with so well. The cherry on the cake was that moving back to England meant he was now too far away from his parents for them to expect him to visit regularly, so he would (hopefully) not have to endure their constant interference in his love life. If he had to have one more discussion about how it was imperative he sire an heir _‘for the good of the family’_ then he would destroy something. 

Draco couldn’t wait for his parents to discover who he was now sharing his home with. He and Ginny had jointly decided the effect would be best if his parents were to find out about their ‘relationship’ through the press. She had preferred the face-to-face approach with her own parents, so he’d had to endure an excessively awkward tea at the Burrow on their last free afternoon, where he played the doting boyfriend, while her parents tried embarrassingly hard to be positive and accepting. It would have been hilarious were it happening to anyone but him.

Eventually, the tea started working to unwind him, and he felt his eyes growing heavy. He was moments from dropping off when the door to Ginny’s room clicked open.

“Oh, hey, you’re still up.” She said sleepily. She was dressed in pale green sleep shorts and a vest, her fiery hair gathered in a loose braid down her back. She looked sleep-rumpled, but surely he hadn’t been sat up that long?

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He went to stand up, but before he could, Ginny plonked herself beside him on the chaise longue and curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about tomorrow.”

“Ah, the big Weasley luncheon. Yes, I can’t say I’m particularly looking forward to it.” He chuckled. “We’ve already survived one grilling by your parents. I’m sure we can survive another.” 

“Yes, but this time it’ll be different. My brothers will be there. All of them. They’ll crucify you. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern.

He bent forward and lightly pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t you worry Ginevra. I’ve lived through worse.” He smiled reassuringly.

The corners of her mouth quirked up, amusement replacing her worry. “Old Voldy has nothing on my brothers.”

“Ha!” It was refreshing spending time with someone who showed so little fear for the dark wizard who had come so close to shattering their whole world. Even ten years on, many people still feared the name.

They sat in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts as they stared into the dying embers of the fire. Draco was just about feeling ready to go to bed when Ginny spoke again.

“It was odd seeing Harry again. He looks good, don’t you think?”

Draco stiffened. She was right, he looked very good, but he didn’t think anyone had noticed him staring. Had she noticed? Or was she just making small talk? It was the first time she had voluntarily spoken about Potter in his presence. He knew that she and Potter didn’t really speak anymore, but she had been reluctant to provide details about the break-up, beyond the fact that it had been bad, and he’d been reluctant to press the matter. He certainly wasn’t about to confess that the crush he’d had as a teen had been reignited with a vengeance the minute he had laid eyes upon Potter’s scruffy head earlier tonight. Thankfully they hadn’t run into him after the speeches or he would undoubtedly have made a blithering fool of himself.

“He looked like he dressed himself by diving headfirst into the hamper and seeing what stuck, and he has still clearly never heard of a hairbrush. Honestly Ginevra, I don’t know what you ever saw in him.”

“Ooh, you bitch.” She cackled, and thwacked him playfully on the chest. “Right. I’m off to bed. I need all the rest I can get in order to survive tomorrow. Goodnight Draco. Thanks for tonight. I had fun.” She stood up then bent down and kissed his head.

“Goodnight Ginevra.” He replied. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, it’ll all be fine. We make a fantastic couple, I’m almost fooled myself.”

He could still hear her laughter as the door snicked shut behind her. He smiled, then decided it was time he head to bed himself.

\------

Sunlight streamed through the large windows, painting the room in bright, glowing stripes. If he squinted, he could almost believe he was back in Monaco, though Draco knew that impression would disappear as soon as he set foot outside. It may be sunny, but it was still early March, and so deceptively cold. He looked up at Ginny who was sat opposite him, distractedly feeding the cats scraps off her plate as she perused the Daily Prophet. He’d taken the Society pages for his own perusal, still not keen to read the tripe that so often passed for news in that rag. He hadn’t read the Daily Prophet in years, not since before he left England, but he’d requested that Skippy, his house-elf, supply them with a copy this morning, to see if their ‘debut’ at the WRAW benefit last night had been noticed. Disappointingly, they hadn’t made the front page of either the main section or the society section, but he was confident they would be in there somewhere. There had definitely been more than one reported sniffing around last night. 

“Ah ha!” Ginny exclaimed triumphantly. “Here it is: _Harry Potter’s Ex Caught in Clinch with Former Death Eater_. Ugh, why do they always have to bring _him_ into everything I do. Honestly. It’s been eight fucking years. I’m a very successful pro-Quidditch player and sports personality. Why why WHY am I still ‘Harry Potter’s Ex’. Ugh!”

“Pass it here, let me see.” Ginny chucked the paper at him and he flipped through the pages. “Page 5. Hmm. Not bad. I suppose if there hadn’t been that attempted break in at Gringotts last night, we would have gotten placed earlier.”

“Well, at least we got noticed. That’s the main thing. And they remembered to use my name in the actual article.”

Before Draco had a chance to read the article himself, Skippy apparated into the room with a crack.

“Master Draco! Begging your pardon. Lady Malfoy is wishing to speak with you! In the green parlour! Immediately!” 

“The green..? Oh bloody fuck. She knows I breakfast at this time. Why insist on making me traipse clear across the Manor to the furthest fireplace. Honestly. That woman.” He pushed himself up from the table with a frustrated grunt, the heavy wooden chair scraping noisily across the parquet floor. “Thank you Skippy. You may inform Mother that I am en route.”

“I take it that means she's heard…” Ginny said hesitantly.

“Yes. Either that or she’s had a sudden urge to inconvenience me for some other reason. It wouldn’t surprise me.” With that, he marched out of the room. 

\------

Ten minutes later, Draco strode into the aptly named green parlour. It was quite a relaxing space, with soft green walls that were accented by pale wooden trim and deep green furniture. One side of the room was taken up with large floor-to-ceiling windows that opened out into the gardens, offering views of the rose garden and the countryside beyond, and there were numerous potted plants within the room, lending the space an outdoor feel. Draco assumed the plants must be tended to by Skippy since he’d not watered them once and they still hadn’t wilted.

His Mother’s face hovered in the flames of the fire. 

“It’s about time. Does it amuse you to keep your elderly Mother waiting on her knees for you?”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he crouched in front of the fire. “Mother. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Draco, darling. While it pleases me that you have at least seen some sense in finally deciding to settle down with a female witch, must you have chosen a Weasley? Your father is beside himself. What on earth are you thinking?”

“You're the ones who stipulated that I find myself a pureblood witch and settle down. You failed to mention there were any exclusions. I'm merely following your advice.”

“That may be so, darling, but a Weasley? She's hardly an appropriate dam for the Malfoy heir. What about that lovely Greengrass girl? You're too late for the older of the two, but the younger one is a perfect mix of grace, strength, and intelligence. She could make you so happy.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but was unable to hold his tongue. “Mother. No witch will make me ‘happy'. I like cock, in case you've forgotten.”

“Draco!” She cried, affronted. Her hands rose to her face in horror. Both his parents were well aware of his...proclivities, but they chose to deal with it by never speaking about it, as if they could somehow ignore the gay away. It was probably childish of him, but he still found immense pleasure in being able to shock his parents by reminding them of his tastes every so often.

“Now, if that will be all? The future mother of my brood of red-headed Malfoy heirs is waiting for me. Please pass on my regards to father. Goodbye.” Draco stood up, dusted off his knees, and left the room, his mother's protests chasing him out. He knew he'd regret being so rude to her later, but right now it felt quite freeing.

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice his partner in deception lurking in the corridor just outside the parlour and almost walked straight into her.

“I suppose you heard what she said?” He asked, hoping that she wouldn't take to heart what his mother had said about her.

“Yeah, she doesn't like me much, does she.”

“She doesn't like anyone very much, except Astoria Greengrass it seems, I wouldn't worry about it.”

“Oh, I'm not. I would actually be more worried if she did like me.” Ginny grinned, and slung her arm companionably around his waist as they walked back to the breakfast room. 

Draco returned her grin. He still found it hard to believe how well they got along. If his sixteen year old self could see him now, he'd probably keel over in shock. It hadn't been easy when they'd first become reacquainted several months ago; there was, after all, a lot of bad blood between them and their families. He had, in fact, been horrified when he realised he would be working closely with the Weaslette, but as soon as they'd begun talking, it turned out they got on quite well. In the end, it had been hard not to like Ginny. She was intelligent and beautiful, but also opinionated and as stubborn as a mule. And her sense of humour veered towards the darker side, which meant she actually got his jokes. She was also one of the few who managed to get under Potter's skin as effectively as he did, which gave them a bit more common ground.

“Erm, one thing though Draco, we’re not actually going to have to produce an heir, are we?” Ginny peered up at him, clearly worried about what his answer would be, despite the fact that they'd agreed going into this that there would be no heir-creation.

Draco grimaced. “Good grief, no. There is no way any of this—” Draco gestured to his body “—is going inside any of that.” He waved his hand vaguely in Ginny’s direction.

Ginny rolled her eyes and hit his shoulder playfully. “Gee, thanks Draco. You certainly know how to make a girl feel special. So, won’t your parents start to wonder what’s going on when they don’t get a grandchild soon?”

Draco sighed. He had no idea what he'd do about that little flaw in their plan. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we’re just buying time from our parents so we can continue living the life we want, with the added bonus of spectacularly pissing them off.”

“You realise they're probably going to start getting suspicious if we shag other people.”

“The trick is not getting caught.” He smirked. “We just have to be discreet, for a short while at least. We only need to scare them into ceasing their interference in our lives, then we can all just move on.”

“Great. Well, I'm going to go for a quick fly around the grounds before we have to head off to Mum and Dad’s. You fancy joining me? We can play some one on one. I might even let you win!” She ran off towards her room to grab her broom.

Draco thought wistfully about his half eaten breakfast for a fraction of a second before he decided that a quick flight around the grounds was probably just what he needed. And anyway, if he didn't join Ginny outside, she'd win by default, and there was no way he could let that happen.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry relaxed into the large, squashy, sofa that took up the lion’s share of Hermione and Ron’s living room. He could hear them bickering in the kitchen as they cleaned up after dinner, the sound familiar and comforting. As usual, he’d offered to help, and as usual, Hermione had ordered him into the living room with a beer, and who was he to argue with that. 

It had been a rather tense meal. Harry had ranted almost non-stop about Malfoy and Ginny; so much so that he was sick of hearing himself. He couldn’t help it though. Both Hermione and Ron had tried valiantly to change the topic on numerous occasions, but Harry had found a way to bring it back to the wizarding world’s newest _power-couple_ (usually by just talking over the top of them). He could practically feel the exasperation dripping off his friends every time he started a new round of ‘ _...but seriously what is she thinking??_ ’.

“I doubt she’s doing it to spite you Harry. You’ve been broken up an awfully long time. I’m fairly certain she doesn’t factor you into any of her decisions any more.” Hermione said patiently, and Harry thought he really should buy her something extra nice for tolerating him tonight.

“Yeah, I mean come on, when are you going to get over it and just move on?” Ron added unhelpfully.

Harry scowled. “She cheated on me!” 

“To be fair Harry, you’re gay. Chances are you would have left her eventually anyway.” Ron said.

“Yes, but she didn’t know that at the time.” Harry protested. It was a familiar argument. Hermione and Ron rolled their eyes almost in sync. He hated that Ron always brought up the gay thing whenever his sister’s infidelity came up, like that neutralised her behaviour.

Sensing the mood souring, Hermione carried on with her story about a client she’d seen that week, Johnson or Jones or whatever. Harry glared at his plate, pretending to listen while his turmoil about Malfoy and Ginny raged internally. 

\-----

Wednesday night meals had been a regular event for the three of them for years; it was a chance for them to catch up with each others news as their lives moved in different directions. Even though he and Hermione technically worked together, they didn’t get much chance to talk during the day as Hermione’s veterinary work kept her very busy. There used to be four of them when he and Ginny had been together, but after they split, he’d never brought any subsequent partners along. The time felt too sacred to share with someone transient— that’s what Friday nights at the Leaky were for. 

As they had gotten older and had more responsibilities thrust their way, the time between meals stretched, and sometimes the day changed, but they never went more than a month without at least sharing drinks between just the three of them; the Golden Trio, as they’d been dubbed all those years ago. Sometimes, seeing Hermione and Ron together and still happy after so many years reminded him how lonely he was, and that he had been unable to achieve that happiness in his own life, as hard as he had tried, but mostly he was just happy for them. They had helped him through the hardest moments of his life; he could never hold their happiness together against them.

A subtle change in the sounds drifting from the kitchen caught his attention. Underneath the clinking and clattering noises of a kitchen being straightened he could hear a hushed conversation, like Hermione was scolding Ron for something but didn’t want Harry to hear. That was odd. They didn’t normally care about Harry hearing them bicker. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table in front of him and turned on the TV, thus removing the temptation to eavesdrop on their conversation. He didn’t doubt they were talking about him, but he wasn’t particularly keen to find out what exactly they were saying. He knew he’d dominated the conversation this evening by ranting about Malfoy and Ginny, so he expected that Hermione would have _thoughts_ on the matter. She was probably just making sure Ron’s thoughts lined up with her own before she confronted Harry and told him what a pathetic mess he was. It was nothing he hadn’t suffered through before. He sighed and started impatiently flicking through the channels, waiting for his friends to emerge from the kitchen.

\-------

“Harry, I know you’re angry, but I’m sure Malfoy isn’t the same entitled prat he was at school. Ginny wouldn’t be with him otherwise.”

Hermione had been talking about ‘acceptance’ and ‘moving on’ and forgiveness’ for what felt like an hour, but had probably only been about fifteen minutes. She had sat beside him on the sofa, her body angled towards him, whereas Ron had perched opposite her on the coffee table. Whatever she said to Ron in the kitchen had clearly worked because they were presenting a united front; Ron nodding in agreement with her statements. Harry remained slouched on the sofa, his arms folded defensively across his chest. He knew he was being petulant, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be as accepting as his friends. He glanced at Ron, the tendrils of suspicion snaking into his mind. Why was Ron so accepting of his baby sister dating Malfoy? He hadn’t been this calm when he realised Harry was shagging her. It had to be more than him just keeping quiet for Hermione’s sake. If there was anyone Harry could count on for Malfoy-related outrage, it was Ron. So why was he so calm about this whole thing?

Suddenly, it hit him.

Harry leapt up from the sofa, pointing accusingly at his friends. “You knew!” He yelled. “You both already knew Ginny was fucking Malfoy and you said nothing!”

Hermione looked like she was about to deny it, but there was no mistaking Ron’s guilt; his cheeks burned with the shame of being caught out. He looked sheepishly up at Harry.

“I'm really sorry, mate. We wanted to say something but—”

“Mate? Some mate you are. I can't believe you knew they were fucking and you never said anything.”

“We really didn't think it would last long enough that you’d need to find out” Ron said apologetically.

“Oh, well, that's fine then. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“We're sorry, Harry.” Hermione grabbed one of his hands in both of hers and looked at him imploringly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “We were just concerned about you. We knew you'd react like this, so we didn't want to upset you unnecessarily”

“Yeah, come on mate, you know what Ginny’s like, she's always doing shit like this to wind up mum and dad. We all thought it was just going to be a flash in the pan sort of thing and—” Ron grunted in pain as Hermione delivered a sharp, unsubtle, kick to his shin.

“What?” Harry glared suspiciously between them. “What are you not telling me? How is this different from her usual winding up Molly and Arthur thing?”

“Ah..”

“Well…”

“Come on, spit it out. Don't force me to buy the Prophet to find out.” He focused his glare on Ron, who was more likely to cave out of the two of them.

Ron took a deep breath, then the words tumbled out in one go.”Ginny has moved into Malfoy Manor and the other day George caught her and Malfoy browsing in jewellery shops. Together.”

Harry felt like his insides had turned to ice. “They're living together!? And getting married!? What..how... Why... I... I can't even process how ridiculous this is. It's like I'm in some strange alternative timeline and everything's the same except for a few really, really fucked up things. And I'm the only one who notices anything is wrong.” He paced from one end of the living room to the other, worried he might set something on fire if he stood still for too long.

“Might be! Might be getting married.” Ron paused, taking in the glares he was receiving from Harry and his wife. “What? It’s an important clarification!”

Hermione turned back to Harry, her eyes still glittering with unshed tears. “Harry, it's okay to be upset—”

Harry cut her off, not wanting to listen to Hermione telling him what to feel. She had no idea what was running through his brain. “I'm not upset. They're both adults. They can do whatever the fuck they like. I just think it's messed up. So so messed up.”

Ron seemed cheered by that statement, some of the tension dropping from his shoulders. He smiled sympathetically at Harry, and patted him on the shoulder. “That's the spirit mate. It'll get better. Anyway, he's really not that bad now.”

Harry halted abruptly in his march across the floor. He narrowed his eyes at Ron.

“What....? Why would you know what he's like now?”

“Ron!” Hermione yelled, smacking her husband on the shoulder.

Roo’s face fell as he realised what he'd implied. “Oh Merlin. Shit a brick.”

Hermione shot Ron a look, then turned to Harry. “Look, it's nothing, really. It's just, Ginny brought Draco to Sunday lunch at the Burrow the Sunday just gone. I'm really sorry we didn't say anything.” 

Harry glared disbelievingly at the pair of them, waiting for someone to say it was a joke. When no one broke the silence, Harry slumped, defeated, the anger that had been supporting him all evening leaving in a rush. “Oh for fuck's sake. Just don't. Don't apologise anymore. I'm done with this. With them. Just drop it. I'm going home. Dray needs feeding anyway.” 

Hermione tentatively reached out to him. He could see she felt awful, but right now, he didn't care. “Harry...please?”

“Are you still going to call your snake that now he's back? It was always a bit weird, but now...Hey, you should get a ginger one too!” 

“Ron!” Hermione squawked, scandalised. 

Harry scowled. He was hurt, confused, tired, and just wanted to wallow in peace. “Screw you both. I'm going home.” He turned toward the fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder from the dish on the mantel.

Hermione gave him a wobbly smile. “I really am sorry, Harry. We just want you to be happy. You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

“Yeah, at the Malfoy and Ginny fanclub meeting.” He muttered under his breath, before throwing the floo powder in the fire and voicing his address. Moments later, he was stumbling out into the drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place.

\---------

The rest of the week at work was exhausting, as he did everything he could to avoid Hermione. He rarely regretted going into business with his best friend, but these past two days sorely tested that. At least they didn't work in the same building so he got a bit of respite. A short time after he had purchased Magical Menagerie, the store next door had become available, so he purchased it and converted it into what muggles would call a veterinary practice. And so Diagon’s, and maybe the Wizarding world’s, first dedicated animal and magical creature hospital came into existence. Hermione had started working there not long after it opened, training under the Muggleborn vet he’d hired since she had become disillusioned with working for the Ministry. He now employed two full time healers, three veterinary nurses, a store manager, and a shop assistant; and he, Hermione, and Caro (the manager), had plans to open an animal sanctuary for abandoned or unwanted pets. It was everything he could have hoped for, except for times like this, when all he wanted to do was hide from his well-intentioned best friend. At least she had brought him not one, but two apology-sandwiches, so her and Ron were mostly forgiven.

Now it was Friday night and he was half-heartedly getting ready to meet everyone down at the Leaky for their traditional Friday night booze up. It was normally the highlight of his week, spending time with old and new friends at their favourite pub, sometimes moving on to a club, but more often than not these days, just getting a takeaway and heading home. But he wasn’t looking forward to it this week. He knew everyone would be talking about the newest scandal, the hottest topic of the week (at least in their circles): Ginny and Malfoy. And if there was one thing he didn't want to talk about or think about or hear about, it was Ginny and Malfoy. Ugh.

Harry scowled at his reflection and tried again to tug his hair into some semblance of order. It was completely futile and he was well aware of that fact since he’d been dealing with it his whole life but he felt he had to do something to try and improve his appearance. Dark smudges, caused by a week of poor sleep, ringed his eyes, and his face seemed pale and drawn. He looked sick, he thought, prodding his face with his fingers. He toyed with the idea of sacking off the Leaky tonight. He was definitely feeling more in a drinking-alone-in-the-dark mood, rather than a drinking-surrounded-by-friends-and-couples-and-happy-people mood. He knew Hermione wouldn’t allow him to shut himself away though. She never did when dark moods overtook him. 

After their ‘ _minor disagreement_ ’, as Hermione had called it (Harry preferred to refer to it as ‘the time they completely betrayed him’), on Wednesday night, Hermione hadn’t let up with her campaign to mother him; trying to get him to open up about his _feelings_ and awful Hufflepuffian things like that. As they worked together, it had basically meant he’d spent the last two days in his shop hiding amongst the animal cages and tanks, trying to look as busy as possible and avoid notice. He’d even considered asking snake-Draco to fake an illness to keep her occupied. 

“Harry? Harry! Are you decent? I’m coming through in five.” Hermione’s voice floated up the stairs from the fire place, magically amplified so it could be heard throughout the house.

Damn. There was definitely no getting out of it if she was planning on escorting him to the pub. 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way down.” He yelled back, not that she would be able to hear him.

He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror and sighed resignedly. His clothes were as shabby as his face. Oh well, there was nothing more he could do. It's not like he needed to look good in order to get blind drunk. He slung his feet into his favourite pair of tatty Converse and stomped down the stairs to meet Hermione.

\--------

Despite his reservations, Harry found he was actually enjoying himself. He was two pints down and deeply involved in a lively discussion with Dean about West Ham’s chances in the league. There had been blessedly little mention of Ginny and Malfoy, much to his surprise, though he wondered if perhaps Hermione had warned people against mentioning it since it almost felt like the topic was being actively avoided. A loud bark of laughter caught his attention and he turned to see Blaise and Neville clearly in the middle of telling an amusing story to the rest of the table. Harry smiled fondly at the pair. They hadn’t been down the pub for several weeks due to some epic world adventure they had embarked on, and Harry was glad to have them back.

Harry got up and headed to the bar, collecting orders for drinks as he squeezed past his friends. While he waited for the barman to fill his order he decided he needed to go and apologise to Hermione (and Ron, but mostly Hermione) for being a mardy git the last few days. She was right to drag him down here. He really shouldn’t have let the sight of Ginny with _Malfoy_ get to him. How was it any concern of his who his ex-girlfriend was fucking? He allowed himself to feel a little proud that he was able to take the high road and ‘officially not care’ about the Ginny/Malfoy thing.

And that’s when he turned round.

“Harry! Mate! There you are! Look who turned up!” Ron called over in an overly enthusiastic voice. He was grinning, but it was the grin of someone who expected everything to go very wrong, very quickly.

Harry tried to reply, but he couldn’t get his throat to work. Instead his mouth flapped uselessly as he stared at his group of friends. In the midst of them stood Ginny and Malfoy, saying their hellos, and hugging his friends like this was all completely normal. They looked flushed from the cold night air, but sickeningly happy. He found his eyes drawn to Malfoy. The man looked like he had stepped out of a glossy fashion magazine; not a hair out of place nor a single wrinkle in his clothes. Who did he think he was, wearing smart trousers and a shirt to the Leaky? And weren’t they muggle clothes? What the hell was that about? In fact, the only defect in his appearance was the dusting of pink on his cheeks, and even that only served to make him look more dashing…..what? Harry’s train of thought stuttered to an abrupt halt. Malfoy was a pointy-faced ferret. There was absolutely nothing attractive or shaggable about a ferret. 

As if he had heard Harry’s thoughts, Malfoy chose that moment to look up, and Harry found himself locked in place by his gaze. A jolt of surprise flashed briefly across Malfoy’s face, but this was quickly replaced by his usual smirk. Malfoy dipped his head ever so slightly in greeting, and then turned back to his conversation with Blaise.

“We can go if you like. I really don’t mind.” Ron said, startling Harry from his introspection. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed gently; the reassuring weight helping to ground Harry. 

Harry tore his eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of him and looked at his best mate. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to apparate back home that instant, but he refused to let Malfoy ruin his night. “Nah, let’s stay. I can’t let them chase me out of my local. Besides, what do I care who either of them is fucking. Nothing to do with me.”

“That’s the spirit, mate.” Ron said, grinning more genuinely now. Harry only wished he believed himself even half as much.

\------

One and a half pints later, Harry was pleasantly buzzed, edging ever closer to completely pissed, and was almost ready to call it a night. Several people had left already— those with families and commitments always the first to drop —meaning the group had shrunk down from encompassing three tables, to being able to squeeze around one. Harry had successfully avoided speaking to both Ginny and Malfoy, aside from the occasional grunt of assent, but this was getting harder now the pool of conversational partners had reduced.

He watched Malfoy surreptitiously over the top of his pint. He didn’t want to, but as the alcohol had worn away his inhibitions, he found it harder and harder to stop himself. Malfoy’s presence at the table was magnetic, and against his better judgement, he even found himself laughing at the other man’s anecdotes.

“Maybe Harry can sort you out?” Neville’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Harry blinked, suddenly realising he’d not heard a word anyone had said for at least ten minutes. “Eh?”

“Articulate as always, I see.” Malfoy sneered. Several of their group hid smiles behind drinks.

“Don’t mind him, he always gets a little zoned out when he’s drunk.” Ginny said, looking patronisingly at Harry, before getting up and heading to the bar. Harry watched her hand brush across Malfoy’s shoulders as she moved past him.

“Hey, I’m not drunk.” Harry rebuffed, belatedly. He glared at his friends gathered around the table as he grabbed for his pint, almost knocking it over in the process. “I’m not!” He cried indignantly. “So, is anyone going to tell me what I’m supposed to be sorting out?”

“Malfoy needs pet supplies, you have a pet shop.” Blaise supplied.

Harry paused, momentarily taken aback at the thought of Malfoy caring enough about a living creature to own a pet. “Oh, okay, sure, pop in some time. We’re open everyday.” 

“I’ll be there next Saturday at ten.”

“Okay then. I look forward to it.” Harry had no idea why he said that, but when he caught the look of surprise on Malfoy’s face he was glad he did. The surprised expression was quickly neutralized, but Harry didn't miss that the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement before he took a sip of his drink. 

A shock of red hair filled his vision as Ginny returned from the bar and brushed past Malfoy, bending low to whisper something in his ear. Harry glared at her, his eyes narrowed, a hot spike of anger flaring in his gut as she sat down and draped herself around her boyfriend. He wasn't sure who the anger was directed at, but he really didn't like the way they were touching. 

Harry forced himself to look away. This was not good. Very not good.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco reached for his wand on the bedside table and checked the time for the third or fourth time since waking that morning. 5:34 am. Fucking brilliant. He wasn't due to be at Potter’s shop for over four hours, why on earth was he awake? He flopped back onto his bed, pulled the pillow over his face, and released a frustrated groan. There really was no point in trying to sleep now, he thought. His head was buzzing; filled with Potter and running through every possible scenario that could occur at their meeting later.

“Skippy!” He yelled, voice muffled by his pillow. His house-elf apparated into the room.

“Master Draco?” Skippy dipped her head respectfully, then dashed over to his bedside, her wide eyes brimming with concern. “Is everything okay? You is up very early, Master Draco. Skippy can fetch potions if you is sick.” 

Draco reluctantly dragged the pillow off of his face and rolled his eyes. Skippy had been his personal house-elf since he was small, and she still mothered him as if he were five years old, not that he minded most of the time. “Calm down Skippy, I’m fine. I just can’t sleep. Can you fetch me my usual breakfast, and also the red binder from my office, along with some quills, ink, and parchment. I’ll be taking breakfast in my suite. Thank you.” 

He figured that since he was up at such a ridiculous hour, he might as well get something useful done. It would hopefully have the added benefit of keeping his thoughts from drifting back to a certain scruffy, green-eyed man, as had happened with annoying regularity since he arrived back in the UK. Perhaps he should have expected it, since Potter had always taken up so much of his attention, but being away from the country for so long had lulled him into thinking Potter didn’t matter as much to him as he used to. In hindsight, shacking up with a Weasley was probably not the best way to go about avoiding Potter, even if said Weasley wasn’t on particularly friendly terms with said boy wonder. (There was a juicy story there that Draco wanted to get to the bottom of some day.)

When Ginny emerged from her room two and a half hours later, Draco was bent over the coffee table, surrounded by parchment and empty coffee mugs, and still dressed in his pyjamas. 

“What the fuck are you doing working at this hour?” She asked, horrified. “It’s barely daytime! And it's Saturday!”

“I’ve a lot of work to catch up on. There’s the physio schedules for the Harpies to think about before the new season starts up properly, and there’s couple of cases I’m consulting on for a colleague at St Mungo’s” _And I had a raging hard-on from dreaming about your ex again_ , he added silently.

“Yes, but it’s Saturday morning. Ridiculously early on Saturday morning.”

“So you keep saying. However, if I’m to go and see Potter at his shop this morning, I need to catch up on work now. Some of us do more than prat about on a broomstick for a living.”

Ginny lobbed a cushion at his head, which he successfully managed to deflect. “Fuck you, Mr la-di-da Lord of the Manor who doesn't even _need_ to work.” She dropped down onto the sofa beside him and swiped his fresh mug of coffee. “Remind me again why you’re actually going to see Harry? You can't stand him. Why not just order pet stuff by owl like everyone else?”

Draco faltered slightly. It was true, he could just owl his orders, so why had he said he’d visit the shop? “Um, well, I find it’s useful to form a good relationship with the pet store owner, so they don’t, er, try to fob you off with inferior supplies.” His excuse sounded pathetic even to his own ears. He swallowed down a wince.

Ginny looked at him calculatingly. “A good relationship. With Harry. Yeah, because that’s likely. Come on Draco, you don't have to lie to me. I know you. You want to go down there in your fancy ass robes, find him covered with owl shit, then rub his face in it, so to speak.”

Damn it. Why didn’t he think of that. Stupid Potter. 

“You might be right, but I know how you Gryffindors get when someone speaks ill of your own, let alone the golden boy himself.”

“Hey, there's no need to hold back on my account; we've not been friends since we broke up. That boy can hold one hell of a grudge, by the way. You'll be lucky if he even lets you in the store with your history.”

“He invited me!”

“He was drunk. And his default setting is to be helpful. But now he’s had a week to think about it, so he’s probably come to his senses.” She grinned smugly from behind the coffee mug (his coffee mug!) as she brought it towards her lips for another sip.

Draco frowned. He hadn’t considered that Potter could have changed his mind. But he wouldn’t kick him out would he? After all, he’s a paying customer. Potter surely wouldn’t turn away his galleons?

Ginny squealed and narrowly avoided sloshing coffee down herself in her excitement. “Oh my gosh, what if he invited you there specifically so he could kick you out! That would be hilarious!” She said, as if she had just read Draco’s mind.

He sneered at her, not that it had any effect any more. “I’d appreciate it if you were a bit more supportive. Girlfriends aren’t supposed to openly mock their boyfriends.”

“Says who? Besides, this isn’t real. Behind closed doors, we can speak to each other however the fuck we like.” She poked her tongue out at him and he grimaced.

“Quite. Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“Nope.” She settled herself comfortably on the sofa and put her feet up on the coffee table, displacing several pieces of parchment in the process.

Draco muttered under his breath and tried to focus back on his work. He had another half an hour before he needed to get ready, but now he was even less sure he wanted to go.

\--------

Draco arrived outside Magical Menagerie with precisely one minute to spare. It was so different to how he remembered it, he’d almost walked straight past. Gone was the ramshackle placement of cages and crates lining the street, partially obscuring a darkened, dusty storefront. Now, from the outside at least, the shop was bright and welcoming. There were large, colourful, signs advertising various deals on pet food and bedding, and centre stage was an enclosure containing a litter of puffskeins which drew in curious onlookers to press their faces against the glass.

He pushed open the door and was immediately assaulted by the earthy, musty, almost sweet odour of many different creatures cohabiting the same space. He glanced around to get his bearings. The shop was far larger than the outside had lead him to believe, and there were rows of shelves stocking food and supplies for almost every creature imaginable. A large sign proclaimed “Can’t find what you need? Ask one of our sales team!” He expected that the ‘sales team’ got pestered a lot. They should provide maps at the door. 

Draco slowly made his way into the store. He had to duck every few steps to avoid the gleaming cages that dangled haphazardly from the ceiling. They housed colourful birds that twittered and flitted to and fro, filling the air with their chatter and the occasional brightly hued feather. As he meandered through the displays, he picked up various items to have a closer look. He wasn’t especially eager to run into Potter, but he didn’t want it to seem that he was dragging his feet on the off chance that Potter was spying on him.

There were muffled voices coming from the far corner, so Draco moved towards the sound since he imagined it was either Potter or someone who could tell him where Potter was. He was slightly miffed that Potter hadn’t been waiting by the door since he was actually expecting him. 

As Draco approached, the voices became clearer and he recognised one of the speakers as Potter.

“...but I can’t leave Draco at home.” 

Draco halted in his tracks. Did Potter just call him _Draco_? Why was he talking about leaving him at home? He crept closer, ears pricked. 

“Then don’t complain about not getting anything done, you daft apeth.” A female voice replied.

“I know, I know, but I just hate to think of my little Drakey Poo languishing at home all alone.” Potter whined.

 _Drakey Poo?_ What the actual fuck. Draco reached out blindly to grab a shelf for support as he felt his knees weaken from the indignity of being called ‘Drakey Poo’, but instead knocked over a basket of cat toys which proceeded to bounce and skitter all over the floor.

“Shit! Shit shit shit.” He muttered, falling to his knees to try and catch some of the toys before they bounced off.

“Hello? Is someone there? Can I help y…” Potter stopped in his tracks as he rounded the corner and saw Draco on his hands and knees, scrabbling around to pick up the dropped toys, which of course had been charmed to make them harder to catch. He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and he slowly stood up with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

“Can anyone join in, or is this a private staring match” An older woman with short brown hair and thick, red-framed glasses moved to stand beside Harry, her hands on her hips, and an amused smirk on her face.

“Sorry Caro.” Potter said, turning to address the woman. “Caro this is Malfoy, we used to, ah, go to school together. Malfoy, this is Caro, store manager of this place.” 

Draco held his breath and waited for Caro to realise who he was and demand Potter remove him from the premises.

“Ah, the famous Mr Malfoy. It's a pleasure to finally meet you.” Caro said, extending her hand towards him. Draco was momentarily taken aback, expecting her to have recoiled in horror rather than be so welcoming. He shook the proffered hand in vague shock.

“Well, I’ll leave you lads to it. This store doesn’t run itself, despite what this ’un thinks. Ta raa.” Caro excused herself with a wink an a smile aimed at Potter— some sort of nonverbal conversation happening that Draco couldn't decipher.

After Caro disappeared between the shelves, they stood in awkward silence. The seconds stretched on for what felt like hours. Potter shuffled his feet and ruffled his hair and looked everywhere except Draco.

As the silence became intolerably uncomfortable, Draco decided to take the initiative and break it. He cleared his throat. “Sorry about the, ah...” He gestured vaguely at the toys still clattering and whirring about the floor.

Potter looked relieved that pressure was off of him to speak first. “It's no problem. Fletch can clear them up when he gets in. It's what I pay him for anyway.” He smiled and Draco felt his breath catch as the full force of Potter’s gaze was turned on him.

He caught sight of some movement behind Potter before he had a chance to reply, and it was then that Draco noticed the large white snake slithering silently across the floor towards them. He stumbled back into the shelf behind him, narrowly avoiding knocking more items on the floor.

“What the shitting hell!” Draco cried, forgetting all about clinging to the scraps of his dignity.

Harry hissed something sharply at the snake, and it paused.

Draco stared between Potter and the snake, which had to be at least eight feet long, maybe longer, unable to find any words. He never used to mind snakes of any size, but living with Voldemort’s scaly sidekick during the war had turned him off them, to put it mildly.

“Draco, meet Malfoy, Malfoy meet Draco.” Potter said, smiling sheepishly, one hand hooked behind his neck.

Draco spluttered, affronted. “You named your snake Draco?”

“Well, yeah, she's..”

“She!? You named your female snake Draco?”

“Yeah, I mean, it started as a joke but it just kind of stuck.”

“You think my name is a joke?”

“No! Look, she's blonde, you’re blonde, she's a snake, you're a snake. She likes winding me up, you seem to like winding me up...It just fits, alright! Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“Yes, fine. A blonde, intelligent, snake. Clearly had to be called Draco… By your logic, I should call my scruffy, idiotic, black-haired crup Harry.”

“You have a crup?”

“No! You idiot. I was just making a point. If you must know I have two cats.”

“Really? Wow. I imagined you’d have something fancy and pretentious. What are their names?”

“Ah, er...” Draco covered his mouth as if he was going to cough and mumbled. “Godric and Gryffindor.”

“I'm sorry, what was that...?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I'm not sure I did. I'm almost certain you just said they were called Godric and Gryffindor, but that can’t be true…”

“Yes yes, go on, laugh all you like.”

“So what did they do to earn such handsome names? Are they red and gold, devastatingly handsome, with hearts like lions?”

“Well...it's more like a dark red tabby colour... But yes, I suppose…”

“That's just brilliant. Fucking amazing. Ron and 'mione are going to piss themselves! Literal piss will happen. Amazing.”

“Ugh. That was excessively vivid.”

“I'm serious!”

“Shut up, Potter.”

The snake— Draco refused to call _her_ by _his_ name —hissed something at Potter, causing them both to turn around.

Potter rolled his eyes. “Not you too.”

Draco glared suspiciously between Potter and his snake, his eyes narrowed. “What? What did she say?”

Potter paused, mouth open, like he was trying to work out whether to translate or make something up. He huffed resignedly. “Pretty much what you just did.”

“Hm. I see. Maybe she’s not so bad. I suppose I don’t object to her sharing my name. But—” He retrieved his wand from his pocket and pointed it threateningly at Potter’s groin. “—I suggest you drop the ‘Drakey Poo’ if you value your gonads.”

Potter shook his head and chuckled. “Merlin. Why do I suddenly feel like a third wheel? Should I leave you two alone so you can get on with the Harry-bashing in private?”

“Of course not Potter, you’re services are required as translator.” Draco smirked. This visit was turning out a lot better than he had anticipated.

Half an hour later, Draco had established that Potter was able to source the food he required for Godric and Gryffindor, and they had agreed on both a price and delivery schedule. It was surprisingly pain-free. Draco felt rather foolish that he’d been so worked up about it. Potter was, of course, his usual insufferable self, but Draco had forgotten how much fun it was needling him; although there was none of the rage and hatred that had previously characterised their relationship. Potter was so responsive, his face so expressive. Every emotion he felt was displayed as clearly as if it had been written on his forehead. When Potter grinned at him because of something he’d said, Draco almost swooned, and only felt slightly foolish about it; proof if any were needed that Potter had put him at ease.

Draco was reluctant to leave, but he couldn’t drag the visit out any longer without it seeming weird. There were only so many cat accessories he needed to look at. Potter walked him to the door, and Draco hoped it wasn’t his imagination that Potter seemed equally reluctant for him to leave. 

“So, ah, anyway, thanks for coming by the store. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Thank you Potter. And you too Snake-Draco. Goodbye.” Draco nodded to the snake that had entwined itself around the rafters above Potter’s head. 

“No problem.” As Draco turned to push the door open and leave, Potter spoke again. “Wait, Malfoy, do you think, maybe, you’d like to get a drink sometime? I could catch you up on what everyone’s up to, or, you know, whatever.”

Draco really couldn't care less about what the others from their cohort at Hogwarts were up to, and besides, Ginny kept him abreast of the most interesting gossip, but he found himself unable to refuse Potter’s offer. He wondered if it would be just them, or if he would have to endure another evening surrounded by Gryffindors. He wasn’t entirely sure which would be more torturous.

“That would be good. I’ll owl you with my availability and we can sort something out.”

“Okay, sure! See you, Malfoy.”

Draco left Magical Menagerie smiling. He couldn’t help himself.

\-----

Harry watched as the door swung shut behind Malfoy. He let out a shaky breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. Did he just ask Malfoy out on a date? Did Malfoy just say yes? Merlin. What was he thinking. But no, Malfoy had a girlfriend. This was definitely just two not-quite-mates platonically having a couple of drinks and a chat. Nothing to stress about. 

“So. THAT was the infamous Draco Malfoy, eh?”

Harry spun round at the sound of Caro’s voice, his heart in his throat. His pulse raced like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Caro was casually leaning against a display of never-run-dry water bowls, hip cocked, and an amused smirk plastered across her face.

“Er, yeah, that was Malfoy.” Harry ignored her knowing look and pushed past her to head towards the counter. He knew she wouldn’t be put off from whatever she was getting at, but he didn’t intend to make it easy for her. She dogged his footsteps and swung up to sit on the counter when he ducked behind it.

“You and he have a history, right?”

“You could say that.” He answered gruffly without looking up from where he was rummaging in a box of receipts.

“You like him?”

“No.”

“But you want to fuck him?”

“Caro! What—” Harry jerked upright, catching his head on on the edge of the counter. “Ow! Bloody buggering fuck!” He rubbed his head, and glared at Caro. He was holding her one hundred percent responsible for the inevitable lump on his head. “What the fuck, Caro.”

Caro was bent over double with laughter, gasping for breath, her eyes wet with tears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. But seriously, Harry, you could have cut the sexual tension between the pair of you with a knife. I had to go stand out back to cool off!”

“Ha bloody ha. It’s moot anyway. He’s straight, and shacked up with Ginny, which you are more than aware of since your nose is never out of the bloody Daily Prophet.”

“Hey! Someone’s got to read it. How else will you know what they’re saying about you?”

“I don’t care what they’re saying about me!”

“Oh pish. That’s beside the point. We’re talking about your man, Draco.”

“He’s not mine, nor will he ever be mine, even if I did want it. Which I don’t.” 

“Harry. That man could not keep his eyes off you. If he’s straight, then I’m the Queen of England. There is no way Ginny is anything more than a beard.”

“Look, just drop it, okay? Malfoy and I have far too much history to ever be more than just casual acquaintances. Nothing’s going to happen. And besides, Ginny and I may not get on, but I’m not about to sabotage her relationship.” Even if she does deserve it, he added privately.

“Whatever. I hope you have fun on your platonic date with absolutely no eye-fucking or sexual tension.”

Harry grimaced and stalked out to the store room, Caro’s laughter still filling his ears. She had become one of his closest friends since she started working at the store but Merlin was she like a dog with a bone sometimes. It was ridiculous to think that there would ever be anything between Malfoy and him. So what if he was so beautiful Harry could barely stand to look at him, he was still a massive bell-end and they would never get on (even though he hadn’t actually been so bad the last two times they’d spoken). Not to mention, he was clearly straight! And dating Ginny, of all the witches in the world he could have hooked up with. 

He paced up and down the narrow aisles between the heavily laden store room shelves unable to settle in one place. Malfoy was probably only being polite in accepting his offer of a drink. Or he wanted a chance to mock Harry or gloat about his perfect relationship with his perfect girlfriend. Oh god, what if he brings Ginny? That would be worse than him not responding at all. Harry collapsed down with a frustrated groan onto the bags of premium crup kibble and hid his face in his hands. What was he thinking, inviting Malfoy out for a drink? What on earth did he think would happen? What did he even want to happen? That was not a thought he felt ready to pursue.


	5. Chapter 5

Malfoy’s owl with his availability for their definitely-not-a-date drink had arrived first thing Monday morning, but Harry still had not replied by lunchtime. The small tawny owl had flapped and hooted and generally made itself a nuisance all morning, but Harry kept telling himself he was too busy to reply. If anything, the owl’s continued presence made him want to reply less; there was a part of him that wanted to see how long it would stick around before it got bored and buggered off. Then he would remember that it was his own fault for inviting Malfoy out for a drink and send a guilty look over at the owl before continuing with his stock-take. 

“Would you like me to eat it?” Snake-Draco hissed from her spot in the rafters. She would often spend the entire day up there, with customers completely oblivious to her presence, occasionally dangling her head down to get a closer look at something or frighten someone.

“What? No! You can’t go around eating post-owls!” Harry replied, horrified.

“It is not going away though. And you mutter like you want it gone. I’m only trying to help.” If snakes could pout, Harry knew Draco would be pouting at him.

“I’m too busy to reply. When I do, it’ll go. I just need time to work out what to say. I mean where does one take a Malfoy for drinks? I guess it should be somewhere muggle so we don’t get hounded by the press, but he always hated muggles. And if he still hates them, what am I even doing trying to be friendly with him? ‘Mione and Ron say he’s changed, and I guess he has because, well, because Ginny, but….” Harry trailed off as he saw Draco pull her head back up to the rafters and start to move away. “Hey! Where are you going?” 

“I didn’t care to hear the rest. I’m going somewhere quiet where there is no snack-sized owl to bother me.”

“Bloody pompous snake.” He muttered under his breath. “Fine! I’ll reply, just don’t eat the owl!” 

Draco gave no indication that she’d heard, but he was almost definitely certain that she wouldn’t harm the owl.

He pulled Malfoy’s note out from his back pocket and unfolded it again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the owl hop excitedly about its perch.

_Potter,_  
I am unavailable until the second thursday of April due to work commitments. I suggest we meet at 7:30pm. As you are more familiar with London, I’ll leave it to you to choose the establishment.  
If this time doesn’t suit, we can rearrange.  
Please reply post haste.  
Regards,  
D.M. 

Harry spent a few moments considering his options— was Malfoy expecting food? 7:30 was such an ambiguous time. Enough time to eat before going out, and enough time to eat after getting there. Should he suggest somewhere muggle or wizarding? This was such a nightmare.

“Fuck it” He said, and hastily scribbled out a reply on the back of a leaflet about worming treatments. The owl hopped over and stuck its leg out before the ink was even dry.

“Here you go, you tenacious little ratbag.” He tied the note securely to the owl’s out-stretched leg, and tossed it a couple of treats. “Make sure you crap on his desk.” He shouted, as it launched itself out of the window.

\------

Malfoy’s reply arrived that evening as Harry prepared dinner for himself in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. The owl took off as soon as he detached the missive, so Harry assumed this meant no response was required.

_I’ll meet you there. 19:30, 12th April.  
D.M._

\-------

The days before the arranged meeting with Malfoy dragged by with excruciating slowness. Harry would have preferred it if Malfoy had been available sooner, then it would have been like ripping off a plaster and he wouldn’t have had over two weeks to stew and obsess and over-think. He cursed himself daily for stupidly inviting Malfoy out, but there was something about the other man— he found himself wanting to get to know him better, maybe just to ascertain in his own mind whether Malfoy truly was as reformed as everyone said. He wished he knew why the other man had agreed; life would be so much more simple if he’d acted like the prat he was supposed to be and rejected the invitation outright. 

Of course Caro had informed Hermione of the whole not-a-date thing, although Harry was fairly sure she’d had the sense to skip the parts where Harry had acted like a schoolboy with a crush (which Caro had made up anyway). (Just because he thought Malfoy was attractive, it didn’t mean he had a crush.)

“I think it's great, Harry.” Hermione said, washing down her mouthful of garlic bread with a healthy gulp of wine. “It shows how much you and Draco have grown and moved on from your schoolyard rivalry.”

Harry decided not to bring up the whole ‘he was a fucking Death Eater, it was more than a bit of rivalry’ thing in the interests of maintaining the peace. Besides, Hermione was fully aware of Malfoy’s past. He hummed noncommittally and busied himself with topping up everyone’s glasses.

It was the week before his and Malfoy’s not-date, and Hermione and Ron had come over for dinner at Grimmauld Place since Molly had the kids for the evening. As expected, his and Malfoy’s tentative forays into friendship was the most popular topic of conversation. Hermione had even convinced him that meeting Malfoy alone for drinks was the most sensible thing he could have done. Something about hashing out differences without an audience or distractions, or something like that. He still found it hard to follow what Hermione said when she went off on one, even after so many years. 

Ron wasn't quite as sympathetic as Hermione, but he had said that if Harry could forgive Malfoy, then perhaps he could also forgive his sister and the pair of them could stop making every family event at the Burrow so fucking uncomfortable. 

“So you don’t think I should ask anyone else to come along? Doesn’t it seem a bit, ah, intimate, just the two of us? You don’t think he’ll get the wrong idea?” Harry asked, for the hundredth time that night.

“Of course not, Harry! Honestly. Why on earth would he get the wrong idea? You’re just two acquaintances going out for a drink.” Hermione was starting to get exasperated by his obvious reluctance, he could tell. The glare she was giving him over her wine glass was a bit of a clue.

“Mate, even if he wasn’t doing unspeakable things with my sister—” Ron shuddered, possibly for dramatic effect, Harry didn’t think he was that much of a prude, “—there’s no way he’d stand a chance with you. Can you imagine?” Ron looked positively horrified. Harry didn’t think it was _that_ horrific a thought. Malfoy was ridiculously beautiful. He could probably get any guy he wanted, if he was even into cock, so it would be more likely that Harry wouldn’t stand a chance with him.

“You’re the one telling me how much he’s changed. Surely if he’s good enough for your sister, he should be good enough for me!” Shit. Harry had no idea why he just said that and really hoped it didn’t sound as desperate and lonely as it did in his head. 

Ron couldn’t contain his laughter. “Aw, are you jealous? Everyone knows Ginny has appalling taste in men, present company excluded, and we know your standards are higher. And come on, it’s Malfoy! He’s, like, your arch-nemesis.”

“I’m not jealous. And now you’re just making him sound like a super villain.” Harry grumbled into his wine glass. 

Hermione eyed him thoughtfully as she chewed her mouthful, not joining in with Ron’s continued laughter. He suddenly felt very exposed, like she was picking through his brain and finding every Malfoy-shaped thought he’d had since spotting him at that benefit almost a month ago, so he hastily changed the subject. She didn’t bring it up again, but he could feel her scrutiny for the rest of the evening.

After they’d said their goodbyes later that night, Harry was, perhaps, even less at ease with the idea of a night out with Malfoy. He was worried that Caro was right, that maybe he did have a bit of crush on his old rival, and that if Malfoy really was a changed man, then there was a strong chance his crush would deepen as they got reacquainted. And the last thing he needed was to fall for his ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend. 

He sat for a long time staring into the fire before going to bed that night, his head buzzing and unable to settle. Snake-Draco had joined him on the sofa at some point, the bulk of her body on the back of the sofa, while her head was a welcome comforting weight on his shoulder. 

\--------

Draco felt like he’d sprouted a flutterby bush in his stomach and his palms were moist and clammy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous. It was absurd, getting so worked up. It was just drinks with Potter. Platonic drinks, because you’re with Ginny, he reminded himself. 

The pub Potter had chosen wasn’t in an area Draco was familiar with, but it wasn’t too far from Waterloo station so he had taken the train. He liked taking the train. The gentle rocking movement and rhythmic sounds always soothed him, so he hoped it would have some effect today. Unfortunately, it just gave him something extra to fret about because the train was delayed, unsurprisingly, so he was in even more of a flap by the time he arrived. 

He took a couple of restorative breaths before nudging the door open and stepping inside. He had expected a gloomy, dark interior, as always seemed popular with British wizarding establishments, but muggles had obviously branched out with their decorative choices. The interior was light and airy. Dark wood was offset with light paintwork and gleaming brass adornments, and the air was delightfully free from pipe smoke and that odd musty smell that seemed to hang around older, bearded wizards. The bar was already busy, clearly popular with young professionals judging by the suits, but Draco had no problem spotting Potter, sat at a small table on the far side of the bar, and looking completely at odds with the refined surroundings. He was glaring at his half drunk pint as if it had personally offended him, and Draco tried to swallow down his guilt at arriving almost half an hour late.

“Apologies. My train was delayed.” He said as he drew up to the table. He inclined his head apologetically, fully expecting Potter to take him to task for making him wait.

Instead, Potter's face lit up when he saw him. “You made it! Hi!” He stood up and stuck his hand out in greeting. Draco looked down at it, taken aback, before he hesitantly reached out and shook it. He silently wondered if the significance was lost on Potter. “I thought maybe you'd changed your mind. Trains can be a nightmare. Did you get the train all the way from Wiltshire? Here, I got you a drink. It's cider, ‘cause I know you like apples. Or, you used to anyway.” He smiled and took his seat, gesturing for Draco to do the same with the one opposite.

“Thank you. Yes, I travelled from Salisbury. I enjoy the monotony of the railway.” Draco spoke quietly, still not entirely sure how to respond to this enthusiastic version of Potter.

“Have you eaten? Only this place does quite good food. That's why I suggested it. Not because I thought we should eat, but in case you wanted to eat. In case you hadn't. Merlin, sorry, I’m rambling.” Harry grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his shaggy mop of hair.

Draco didn’t know what to say. He'd been prepared for awkward silence and maybe a bit of passive aggressive posturing, but this nervous rambling was a bit of a surprise. It actually went some way to calming his own nerves, seeing Potter so visibly anxious. 

“I had a sandwich on the train, but I could eat.” He said, after a brief pause, and offered a faint smile. 

“Great! I'll get some menus. Is that cider okay? I can get something else?”

“The cider is fine, thank you.” Draco decided to go with being cautiously polite until he was absolutely sure this wasn't all some ruse by Potter to embarrass or humiliate him. 

\----

Much to Draco’s surprise, the evening passed most enjoyably, and he would have stayed out longer but for the need to get the train home. Potter had suggested he use the public floo at Waterloo East, which he hadn't been aware of (not that he'd admit that), and he was sorely tempted, but the lure of a relaxing train ride with a good book was too great. He knew he'd appreciate giving himself time to unwind before getting home; he would be far too wired to sleep otherwise. 

Conversation had flowed easily between them once the initial nerves had worn off. They were both clearly sidestepping certain topics, but they found no shortage of things to talk about. Potter had been fascinated by his current work with the Harpies, and previously with the Toulouse Panthères and Monaco Miniatures, and he'd lapped up all the stories from his time in the south of France and Monaco. It made such a difference, having a captivated audience for a change. Most of his friends either didn't really care for his work, or were colleagues so weren't particularly interested. 

Potter had a fair few interesting tales about work himself, although Draco suspected a story about an incontinent puffskein told by anyone else wouldn't have had him laughing quite as hard. Draco had been expecting a degree of resentment about his relationship with Ginny, but aside from politely enquiring about her health, Potter made no mention of her all evening, and Draco was in no hurry to bring her name up and potentially upset their truce. 

When they decided to call it a night, Potter waited with him at the station until the train turned up, then they bade each other goodnight with vague promises to ‘do it again sometime’. Despite this, Draco was confident that he at least would put the effort in to get Potter on his own again, although that might be the cider talking. 

He found it hard to believe that one of the most enjoyable evenings he'd had in a long time had been with Potter of all people (eleven year old Draco would be so jealous!). It was amazing how easy it felt. He knew things would likely get tricky once certain events from their shared past were brought up, but that was something he’d think about when the time came. And he was cautiously optimistic that the time _would_ come; it felt like he and Potter had made a good first step on the road to becoming friends.

\------

Draco arrived home just after midnight. He was thoroughly exhausted and couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. He slowly made his way through corridors that were bathed in the soft glow from all the lit sconces— he had instructed Skippy to always keep them lit since he returned to the manor in an attempt to ward off the nightmares.

He opened the door to the suite he shared with Ginny, and was surprised to find her curled up on the sofa with a magazine and glass of wine. He hadn’t expected her to still be up.

“You survived then?” She enquired.

“Nice to see you too, Ginevra. And of course I survived. There was never any question of my survival.”

She stuck her tongue out at him in reply. “So, was he an insufferable bore? Did he complain about me and warn you what a terrible girlfriend I am?”

“Not in the slightest. He barely mentioned you at all. It was a very pleasant evening actually, so we’ll probably do it again sometime.”

Ginny stared at him eyebrows raised in surprise. He supposed she had expected him to return grumbling about how terrible Potter was. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter: BFFs. You couldn’t make this shit up.” 

“I’m just as surprised as you are, but I’m willing to admit that maybe I was wrong about him.”

“Wow. Just..wow.” She shook her head disbelievingly and made her excuses, heading to her room. Her hand was on the doorknob when she spun round, face alight with joy. “Hang on a minute, you fancy him, don’t you?” She exclaimed with glee. He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “You do, don’t you? It’s so obvious! Oh. My God! Oh this is hilarious. He’ll never go for you, you know that, right? That boy’s completely vanilla. Not the type to go chasing after a ‘bad boy’.”

Draco’s shock at her pronouncement quickly turned to anger as Ginny spoke. He struggled to find a retort, and found himself blurting out “I do not fancy him!” like a tantruming child, before storming off to his room. 

He slammed his door shut and leant back against it to gather himself. So what if he fancied Potter. It wasn’t that laughable; the man was awkward and self depreciating and yet so beautifully charming and kind, Draco defied anyone not to fancy him at least a little bit. It’s not like he thought anything would ever come of it anyway. Potter probably wasn’t even gay, and Ginny was at least partly right, he’d never go for someone like Draco, but that was no reason to laugh in his face. 

Before turning in for the night, he jotted a hasty note to Potter, thanking him for the evening out and suggesting they make another date, then he summoned Skippy and asked her to owl it in the morning; he didn’t want to appear too eager. With that done, he settled into bed, once more unable to help the smile that blossomed on his face as he reminisced about the evening.


	6. Chapter 6

In the days following their night out, Harry found it difficult to concentrate on anything. He couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. He had to keep reminding himself that it hadn’t been a date, that no matter whether Draco was straight, bi, or whatever, he was already in a relationship and so was very unavailable. It seemed no one had informed his cock of this fact though. Every morning since their not-date, he’d woken up hard, his boxers damp with pre-come, and he’d had to have a quick pre-breakfast wank just to take the edge off enough to make it through the day. It was exhausting!

In an effort to maintain distance and not indulge his crush, he had decided not to reply to Malfoy’s thank you note immediately. Maybe he wouldn’t reply at all. Absolutely no good could come from he and Malfoy spending more time together; it would just make his crush worse, and there was no use in denying he had one now. It wouldn’t be fair to Malfoy (or Ginny, he thought begrudgingly), if he struck up a friendship with Malfoy specifically so he could perve on him and hope to one day steal him away.

He hoped that if he threw himself into his work, he’d be too busy for his thoughts to dwell on Malfoy, but neither Caro or Hermione seemed to be able to go more than a couple of hours without mentioning him in some way. It was infuriating. He felt like a teenager again, like his libido was trying to take control of his body, and it was becoming impossible to concentrate on his job. Eventually, after a week of blundering through his work day making stupid mistakes, Hermione took him to one side and ‘had words’. He was hiding out in the stockroom, trying to rid himself of an inconvenient erection through the shear force of will, when she cornered him. 

“Harry, I think we need to talk about you and Draco.” She said as she leant on the doorframe, her arms folded across her chest in her ‘no nonsense’ pose.

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course she wanted to talk about Draco. It had been at least an hour since his name was last mentioned. At least this should sort out his current … _trouser_ … problem. Nothing wilted his dick faster than a stern lecture. “Err, no we don’t. There’s nothing to talk about. We had a few drinks, it was fun, we don’t hate each other anymore. There’s not really anything more to say.”

“I know, and I think it’s fantastic that you both appear to have moved past your rivalry, but do you think perhaps you’re starting to obsess about him again?”

“What? No! One night out does not an obsession make. And I’m not the one who keeps bringing him up every five minutes!” 

“Yes, but you’ve not really been yourself since that night, and I know that look Harry. I get it, I really do. You’ve been single for a while, Draco’s and attractive man, and now you’re not actively hating him, you’ve got all these misplaced feelings…”

He cut her off abruptly before she could barge her way any further down that particular track. “Woah woah woah, back it up a little there. What on earth are you on? If you’ve got something to say, just say it and let me get on with this, um…” He gestured at the stack of boxes he’d been standing by. “...whatever it was I was doing.”

Hermione pursed her lips, clearly not buying that he was doing anything even remotely work related. “I just think maybe you need to put yourself out there, go on a few dates, meet some new people. That night out with Draco was the closest thing you’ve had to a date in over a year, it’s no wonder you’ve got mixed feelings.” 

He thought for a moment she might lean forward and pat him on the head like the lonely little puppy she apparently thought he was, but thankfully she was able to restrain herself. 

“Oh. Wow. I had no idea you kept such a close eye on my love life. Do you do this for everyone, or am I a special case?” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.

“Please don’t get mad, I’m worried about you Harry. You deserve to find your someone special.”

He grimaced. “Maybe I already met them and ruined it.”

“Ginny was not your someone special. She’s missing some vital equipment for a start, and you both did a fantastic job of messing that relationship up.”

“I didn’t mean her! For fuck’s sake. It could have been any number of men! I’ve had boyfriends, ‘mione. Lots of boyfriends. Any one of them could have been ‘the one’.” He took a deep breath to calm himself down. It was infuriating that everyone _still_ thought everything in his life came down to _her_. After allowing himself a few moments to squash down the irritation— he didn’t mean to get so worked up at Hermione, he knew she was only looking out for him. —he spoke again.“Look, I guess I appreciate the concern, but you really don’t need to worry. I’m not lonely, I’m not obsessing over Malfoy, and I don’t need help.”

“Okay, I’m sorry Harry, truly I am, it’s just, I really think it will help take your mind off Malfoy if you try going out and meeting new people. Will you at least consider it?”

“Fine, sure, whatever.” He turned back to his stack of boxes to show he was done discussing his love life, or lack thereof. When he heard Hermione’s footsteps fade as she moved from the door, he slumped down to the floor in relief. 

\------

Two days later, and still not having replied to Malfoy, Harry found himself in his favourite muggle gay bar, being flirted at by Rafe; a tall, well built, sandy-blonde who had that look about him of someone who had sprouted fully formed on a beach with a surfboard. He and Rafe had shared more than a few fumbles with in the bar’s bathroom, and Harry thought he even remembered going back to Rafe’s flat on one occasion, but they’d never gotten to know each other properly (well, not sober, anyway). Rafe had made no secret of his desire to get to know Harry in more than the biblical sense, but Harry had always declined his offers. However, with Hermione’s words buzzing around his head, and with an honest desire to distract himself from his awkward crush, he found himself agreeing to go out on an actual date. What’s the worst that could happen? At best, he’d discover the love of his life (unlikely, but possible), and at worst, he’d have a few weeks of regular, fantastic sex.

\--------

Draco was fuming. He’d not heard a thing from Potter in over three weeks, not even a brief acknowledgement of his ‘thank you’. It was beyond rude. He hated being ignored, and that was what Potter was doing. Ignoring him. Even their previous animosity had been better than this, because at least then he’d had Potter’s attention. 

“I don’t know why you can’t just owl him again.” Ginny had supplied unhelpfully one morning over breakfast.

“Owl who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feigned ignorance, not wanting to discuss anything remotely Potter related. It was bad enough he had to spend his breakfast staring at Potter’s ridiculously goofy grin, which was plastered all over the Prophet as they presented their latest speculations about his love life. Draco refused to demean himself by reading the accompanying text. He could do without knowing which air-headed witch Potter was currently ploughing.

“You know exactly who I'm talking about. You’ve been glaring at his picture for the last fifteen minutes. You know, I was joking when I said you fancied him before, but it’s true isn’t it? You’re completely arse over tit.” Ginny leant back smugly in her chair with her arms folded across her chest. Draco could feel his cheeks heating under her scrutiny.

“That’s an outrageous accusation, and I’ll thank you not to repeat it.” He replied stiffly. His chair scraped across the floor dramatically as he stood up and blustered out of the room. Ginny’s voice following him out.

“You can do so much better!” 

\-----

Draco was still feeling some residual irritation from breakfast that morning while he was on Diagon Alley, running some errands. He needed to restock his everyday potions ingredients, and he wanted to look for a few new chairs for his suite, preferably with an inbuilt cat repellent charm, if such a thing existed (and if it didn’t, someone could make a lot of galleons for inventing it) so his cats wouldn’t rip the fabric to shreds. Again.

Despite trying his best to avoid it, he couldn’t help but glance at Magical Menagerie as he walked past. Through the storefront window, he caught a glimpse of Potter, stacking boxes of something into a large pyramid shaped pile. Without conscious thought, his legs carried him closer— to get a better look at the boxes being stacked in case the contained some revolutionary new cat product, he told himself weakly. Potter’s back was to the window. As Draco watched, Potter straightened up and removed his hoodie, revealing a rather snug, dark grey t-shirt beneath. The shirt had ridden up slightly so Draco got a brief look at the dimples on his lower back before Potter tugged at the hem to cover himself up. What wouldn’t he have given to have viewed the scene from the front, catching, instead, a glimpse of the dark trail of hair dipping below his waistline. Draco’s heart sped up as he continued to watch. He was now almost pressed up against the glass. If Potter were to turn even minutely to the side, there was no way he’d miss Draco, and then what? How could Draco explain what he was doing when he wasn’t sure himself?

“Draco! What a pleasant surprise.” Draco’s heart leapt into his throat and he was sure he jumped clear of the ground. He spun round and found himself facing a very amused looking Caro. 

All he could manage was a weak “Morning.” as he recovered from the fright, but Caro didn’t appear to notice.

“Harry’s just inside. He’ll be glad to see you.” She smirked and disappeared through the door. Potter turned around upon hearing the door open, and instantly caught sight of Draco through the glass. 

Through the open door, Draco could hear exactly what Caro said as she walked past Potter. “Your boy Draco’s outside. Looks like he was enjoying the show.” She cackled gleefully.. 

Draco had never wanted the ground to swallow him up more than at that moment. With any luck, the heat from his face would melt the ground beneath his feet and he could just sink into the molten rock and disappear forever. Would Potter mourn his loss, he wondered? Maybe he would jump in to rescue him. That would be a very Potter thing to do.

He would just have to brazen it out. So what if he’d been caught staring at Potter. It’s stupid Potter’s fault for being so hot. Steeling himself for either open mockery or aggressive dismissal, he strode into the shop as if that had been his intention all along.

Potter stood motionless and watched warily as he approached, almost like Draco was a wild animal he thought might spook suddenly. 

Draco scrolled through various greeting in his head, but all that came out was: “Hi.”

“Hi.” Potter was equally as verbose.

Draco frantically scrabbled for something to say. He wanted to be angry and ask why Potter hadn’t owled, but now that he was face to face with him, all he could think about was pushing him back against the shelves and rutting hard against him.

“So, ah, did you want something?” Potter folded his arms across his chest, which only served to show off the muscle definition in his arms and did absolutely nothing to improve Draco’s current cognitive ability.

He dragged his eyes back to Potter’s face and hoped he wouldn’t started drooling. “Um, yes, I er, Cat toys! I need cat toys.” He congratulated himself on an impressive save.

“They’re in aisle three. Under the sign that says ‘Cat Toys’. Try not to knock them over this time.” The corners of Potter’s mouth quirked up like he was trying to suppress a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll try not to.” Draco turned away and started to walk towards the cat toys. At least Godric and Gryffindor would get something positive from today.

“I had fun the other night.” Potter’s voice halted him in his tracks. Draco slowly turned back round to face him and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Look, I know you’re probably mad that I didn’t owl you back, but I wasn’t sure what to say, and I thought you were probably busy with work and Ginny, and well, I didn’t want to bother you. So, I’m sorry. I hope we can still be friends?” 

He looked like someone had just ripped the head off his favourite childhood toy and Draco wanted more than anything stop him looking like that, which is why he found himself saying: “Perhaps we can go for coffee sometime?”

“Yeah? Sure, I’d like that.” Potter’s relieved smile slightly diminished the horror he felt at himself for effectively asking Potter out.

“Hey, you guys realise it’s lunchtime, right?” Caro’s voice piped up from where she was sat on the counter. “Why don’t you take Draco to that sandwich shop you’re alway banging on about? I hear their coffee’s quite good too…”

“Thanks Caro.” Potter ground out. His tone lightened again as he addressed Draco “I’m sorry about her. She gets off on interfering with other people’s lives, as do most of my friends, actually.”

“It’s quite alright. I am free now though, if you do want to go for lunch?” Draco asked hesitantly; hopefully.

“Oh, okay, great. Let me just…” He trailed off and waved a hand vaguely in Caro’s direction. “I’ll be right back.”

Draco watched as he marched up to Caro and all but dragged her into the back room. He returned a few minutes later, looking slightly red faced and flustered, and herded Draco out of the shop before Caro had the chance to say anything more.

\-----

The sandwich shop turned out to be a muggle cafe hidden amongst a row of takeaways and charity shops. It had seemed small and pokey from the front, but once inside, Draco saw that it stretched quite a way back, and apparently there was even a seating area in a covered courtyard out the back, though it was hardly the weather for outdoor dining at the moment so they sat inside. The decor wasn’t at all to Draco’s taste (not that many places actually were); the walls were brightly coloured and painted with murals that appeared to have no connecting thread, the staff looked obnoxiously cheerful, and the menus were a single piece of laminated A4 card. Laminated! Draco wouldn’t even have looked at this place had he been with anyone else, and even now was sorely tempted to flee home and burn his outfit, but the look of reverence on Potter’s face as they walked in convinced him to stick it out.

“I know it’s probably not up to your usual standard,” Potter had said, almost defiantly, “but you’ll be hard pressed to find a better New York Deli bap this side of the Atlantic. Their spicy chicken roll should be illegal too.”

“No, no, it looks, ah, very quaint.” He smiled faintly. To be fair, it smelled amazing. If they could sit somewhere away from one of the more violently bright murals, and somewhere he didn’t have the counter staff and their sickeningly happy attitudes in his line of sight, then it might not be so bad. He would not, however, be held responsible for his actions should one of them demand he _‘have a nice day’_ , or refer to him as _‘mate’_ , _‘pal’_ , _‘dude’_ or anything of that ilk.

It didn’t take long before the awkwardness fell away and they were chatting easily again, and by the time they were finishing up their drinks and thinking about making a move, Harry was actually laughing so hard at one of Draco’s work stories (which involved a misplaced broom handle and plenty of vaseline), that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. Draco felt inordinately proud for having caused that reaction.

“What the… How is that even possible?” Harry said, between gasps.

“I know! If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you never touch a quidditch player’s equipment. You have no idea where it’s been.”

Harry doubled over again, but when he looked up, eyes glittering from mirth, he stiffened. His gaze was focused over Draco’s shoulder, and Draco spun round to see what had captured his attention.

“What is it?” He asked, scanning the shop, half expecting to see a Death Eater, or worse, a gossip columnist. He turned back to see Harry had ducked his head down, and shielded his face with his hand. “Who are you hiding from?”

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

“No! It’s not that at all, it’s just—” He was cut off by a loud brash voice that Draco could almost feel as well as hear.

“Harry! Hey! What are you doing here?” The stranger bellowed. It was clearly someone Harry knew, although maybe not a friend since he had tried to avoid notice. 

“Hi Rafe. just getting some lunch.” Harry replied with what Draco could tell was false cheeriness.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Draco watched the interaction between to two men with interest, wondering whether he should step in and introduce himself or continue pretending he wasn’t there. The man, Rafe, took the decision out of his hands though. “Hi, I’m Rafe, and you are?” He held his hand out, eyes narrowed.

Draco peered at the proffered hand and briefly toyed with the idea of ignoring it. Politeness won out in the end though and he stood to shake the man’s hand. “Draco Malfoy.” He said. Blunt and to the point. No unnecessary frills. He tidily sat back down in his seat, back straight, hands folded in front of him.

“Malfoy and I went to school together. He’s just moved back to the UK.” Harry offered, easing the tension that had been building as Draco and Rafe stared each other down.

Rafe turned back to Harry, choosing to ignore Draco’s presence at the table. “Right, okay. Are we still on for Saturday? My flatmate’s out all weekend so we’ve got the whole place to ourselves.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Great! Looking forward to it.” Harry replied.

“Cool. Well, I should go. Just popped in to pick up lunch before going back to work. See you Saturday.” Rafe leaned down and pressed a kiss to Potter’s lips. If Draco had needed confirmation of his suspicions as to the nature of their relationship, this was it. Rafe barely spared him a glance as walked up to the counter to place his order. 

Draco raised an eyebrow quizzically and Potter’s faced glowed. It surprised him to see the normally confident man looking so...well, not embarrassed really, but cornered.

“You failed to mention you have a boyfriend.” Draco stated.

“Ah, yeah, well, it never came up. We’ve not been together long.” His expression hardened. “Do you have a problem with it?”

“Of course not, you dolt. I’m just surprised you’ve managed to keep him a secret.” Harry visibly relaxed as Draco answered. Draco wondered whether he’d had to get used to having to defend his preferences. Did the wizarding world even know their hero liked cock? 

“He’s muggle so we don’t go to any wizarding places. Muggles don’t care who I date. And the wizarding press don’t seem to care what I do in muggle spaces. Also, I’ve yet to find a wizard who doesn’t care about the whole ‘saviour’ thing. Dating muggles is just easier.”

“Harry Potter, a raging queen. I would never even have imagined it.” Draco said, only partly in jest, but he smiled to take the edge off in case Potter got offended. 

Potter clearly realised there was no malice in the comment, as he grinned his reply: “What can I say, I just love a nice hard cock.”

Draco hurriedly brought a hand to his face to smother the very undignified snort that most definitely did not come from him (if anyone happened to ask). Despite his slight mortification, Draco felt his heart expand about ten sizes. This is what he had wanted all these years- he and Potter sharing a laugh and a joke, chatting easily over coffee, not caring about anyone else, just each other in this moment. He risked a glance towards the counter where Rafe was still waiting for his order and was inordinately pleased to see him frowning at their table. Good. He may get to fuck Potter, but he would never have this. He smirked and Rafe scowled as he turned away.

As he walked to the apparition point later that afternoon Draco couldn’t help the slight glimmer of hope that sparked in his chest. Potter was gay! And into blonds, if Rafe was any measure of his tastes. Not that anything was likely to happen, not with that beach-ready ken-doll as his competition, Ginny as his ‘girlfriend’, and most importantly, their complicated (to put it lightly) history. But, (and this was a small but very important ‘but’) it now didn’t seem such a completely far-fetched notion that Potter might be interested in him.

\----

As spring turned into Summer, and Summer in turn rushed towards Autumn, Draco spent an increasing amount of time with Potter. He would pop in whenever he had errands to run in Diagon Alley, and sometimes even when he didn’t, and they would get lunch, or go for coffee, or sometimes just hang out at the store for a bit if there was a lot of work to get done. Draco often found himself getting roped into feeding and watering the various different creatures, but he didn’t mind since it meant more time for watching Potter work, or chatting with Caro or Hermione. That was one of the biggest revelations of the Summer, Hermione Granger (she might be married to the Weasel, but she’d always be Granger to him) was actually a highly intelligent, interesting person. He lost count of the hours he and Granger spent discussing the latest advances in the veterinary and medical fields, and she had expanded his knowledge of muggle practices in his field exponentially.

Draco found himself from falling harder and harder for Potter, and it was getting more and more difficult to maintain the pretence of ‘straight man in a loving relationship’ when he and Potter spent time together. He wanted more than anything to admit the ruse, but Ginny was insistent that they maintain the charade for a while longer. She was convinced Potter would blab to Granger and the Weasel, who would then tell her mum and she wasn’t ready to give everything up. Draco felt awful keeping such a huge secret from Potter, but Ginny had been a good friend in a country where he no longer had many so he didn’t want to betray her trust. 

“Just for a little while longer Draco, I promise. You have no idea how much easier it for me now people think I’m taken. I don’t get hassled half as much when I go out, even when you’re not there. It’s great! I’m sure Harry will understand.” She said one evening in late July. 

Draco sighed. He could see her point, though that didn’t make it any easier to accept. “It’s just hard, keeping such an important part of myself hidden from him. Do you really think Potter will understand? You’re the one who’s always said how tenaciously he holds onto a grudge.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Anyway, why do you even care so much about what he thinks? It’s Harry!”

“I.. well… We’re friends now. I don’t like keeping secrets from my friends.” He didn’t think she needed to know just how deep his feelings ran.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay fine. We can have a spectacular break up soon, I promise. Your mother has actually started to ask me when we’re planning on getting married so we can start a family. Anyone would think she wants a Weasley as a daughter-in-law!”

Draco huffed out a laugh. “I think by this point, she just desperate for me to get on with producing an heir. Any pureblood port in a storm…” 

“Oh, charming!” Ginny cried. “Come on you, we’re going out. You need cheering up and I need a drink.” 

Draco allowed himself to be dragged off by Ginny. It was so much easier to just go along with her plans and he wasn’t in the mood for taking a stand. Besides, she was right, he could do with a few drinks and a night out to take his mind off Potter.


	7. Chapter 7

The summer had just flown by, and Harry decided it was all Malfoy’s fault. He would pop in once or twice a fortnight and they would hang out in the shop or in some muggle cafe (quite often, the sandwich shop they’d gone to that first outing despite the fact that Malfoy claimed it offended his delicate sensibilities), and sometimes Malfoy would turn up to the Friday night booze-up in the Leaky (although he’d often have Ginny with him, unfortunately), so Harry felt like he spent all his time looking ahead to the next time they’d get to spend together. 

Unsurprisingly, Rafe had eventually dumped him after only a few months because apparently Harry hadn’t been attentive enough, and he also hadn’t particularly appreciated it that one time Harry had accidentally called him ‘Malfoy’ in bed. It was a shame that it hadn’t worked out, and not just because of the fantastic sex he now wasn’t getting, but also because Rafe had turned out to be a pretty decent bloke once he got to know him. Harry had tried hard to be a good boyfriend, but there was just no ignoring the fact that his thoughts were constantly on another man; a blond, snarky, git of a man who just happened to be the most beautiful person Harry had ever seen.

And that was the problem. Rather than get Malfoy out of his head, all he’d succeeded in doing was falling for the stuck-up twat. When they spent time alone, hanging out in the shop or out for coffee or lunch, he could almost pretend they were together, but then Malfoy would drag Ginny to the Friday night piss-up or someone would mention her name and he’d remember that Malfoy didn’t see him like that; he was straight and had a girlfriend, he wasn’t interested in banging his shaggy-haired friend.

As far as he knew, his friends weren’t aware of his growing feelings for Malfoy, although he would often catch Hermione staring at him as if she knew there was *something* going on, but couldn’t quite work it out. It was only a matter of time before she got it though, and frankly, he was surprised it was taking her so long. Not for the first time, he questioned his sanity in choosing to have such an astute friend; Ron never noticed inconsequential details like the massively inappropriate, all-consuming crush his best friend had on his sister’s boyfriend.

By July, Snake-Draco had refused point blank to listen to anything regarding Malfoy or Harry’s non-existent love life, which meant he’d lost the one outlet for his inner turmoil. So by mid-August, he had taken to talking to the plants in his garden as a means of offloading all his conflicting thoughts and emotions, just to try and calm his head a little bit. He had to ensure Snake-Draco was nowhere around though, as she had threatened to suffocate him in his sleep if she had to hear him whine about being alone forever one more time. 

\----

It was approaching the end of August, and Harry was checking their stock of owls and related paraphernalia in preparation for the back-to-school rush. He hadn’t seen Malfoy for almost three weeks and he was starting to worry. Harry knew he was often busy with work, travelling with the Harpies and visiting other clients, but he hadn’t been completely out of contact like this since they had become friends.

He had just about given up on Malfoy showing up that day when the door was aggressively pushed open and the man in question strode in. He stalked straight past Harry and into the staff room-cum-office behind the counter without uttering a word. Harry and Caro exchanged a confused glance, then he trotted after him. 

Harry hesitantly stepped into the small room just as Malfoy flung himself dramatically down in the tattered wingback chair that had ended up there at some point, and which Malfoy had claimed as his own ever since he started visiting regularly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Harry asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer. When Malfoy got in a snit about something, it was usually better just to avoid him.

“I just don’t know why I bother. If they had their way, I’d never leave the Manor and just sire heirs. Why do they think they have any say in what I do?”

“Er, no idea. Your parents, I take it?” 

“Of course. Who else causes me this much misery?” He snapped. Then, after a brief pause: “Sorry. I’ve had to put up with them for a week. A whole week! They descended on the Manor for the ‘annual survey of their assets’, or some such tripe. Although I believe it was a thinly veiled excuse to nose into my relationship with Ginevra and drop unsubtle hints about marriage and babies. Why can’t they just leave me alone?” He flopped forwards and buried his face in his hands.

Hearing Malfoy speak about marriage and babies and Ginny in the same sentence made Harry feel quite sick, but he couldn’t stop himself asking the next question. “So, ah, do you think you and Ginny might someday actually, you know, tie the knot and have kids?”

He groaned exasperatedly into his hands and answered without even looking up. “Salazar, not you too.” 

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question!” Harry inched closer to Malfoy, ready to offer comfort if needed, but just as ready to leap out of harm’s way.

Draco finally raised his head and met Harry’s eyes with his own. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “Fine. I don’t know. I suppose I would like to get married and have a child one day, but not anytime soon. I just want to enjoy my life for a bit, not that anyone will let me.” He growled.

Harry’s brain immediately fixated on the fact that he hadn’t said he wanted to do those things with Ginny, just that he’d like to do them ‘one day’. Did this mean there were cracks in their relationship? He couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that raced through him at the thought that Malfoy and Ginny might soon be no more. Not that he expected Malfoy to miraculously turn gay, but he stood more chance convincing a single Malfoy of his charms rather than a happily attached one.

He thought it better not to press any further, for the time being, so tried a different approach. “Coffee?”

“Finally! I thought you’d never ask. Make it Irish, and skip the coffee, and you’re on.”

Harry chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to rummaged around in a few cupboards, but the only alcohol he found was a half drunk bottle of vodka of unknown provenance. “Er, bad news on the whiskey front I’m afraid.” He said, waggling the vodka bottle.

“Why does this shit always happen to me?” Malfoy whined.

Harry looked at his friend, the object of his affections, and formulated a plan. It wasn’t a very good plan, and it pretty much just involved alcohol, but right now he would do anything he could to cheer Malfoy up. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What? You want us to drink that filth out there?”

“No, you wet slipper. I’m taking you out to a bar and we’re going to drink beer, and eat bar snacks, and forget all about parents and heirs and weddings.”

“But, don’t you have to work?”

“I own the place. I’m hardly going to sack myself. Besides, Caro says I just get in the way anyway. Come on, what do you say?”

“Sure, why the hell not. What’s the worst that can happen.” He grinned and Harry very nearly swooned and collapsed into a soggy heap on the floor, but fortunately he was able to hold tightly on to the scraps of his dignity at the last minute. It was a rare treat having Malfoy’s devilish grin turned upon him and he didn’t want to ruin the memory by acting like a Victorian woman who’d done her corset up too tightly. 

\-------

Several hours and many drinks later, Harry was feeling very pleased with himself for the resounding success of his plan. They were only on their third bar, having taken a break to get dinner at a Persian restaurant Malfoy had heard one of his colleagues raving about, and Harry felt just the right amount of drunk. However, he had long passed the point of being able to sensibly decline further alcoholic drinks so this state would not last. 

He watched Malfoy weave back from the bar with two ridiculously colourful drinks in squat glasses, decorated with some kind of vegetation. This place had been Malfoy’s choice, so it was hideously overpriced and filled with entitled prats in suits, but they had an alcove to themselves so Harry was able to block out the worst of the idiots. And the drinks were amazing, if a bit small, so he didn’t completely begrudge the expense, especially not since Malfoy was paying.

“I want to dance. Do you realise I haven’t been dancing in almost a year!” Malfoy announced, as he gracefully dropped onto the bench opposite Harry. 

“May I remind you that it was your choice to come here,” Harry replied, raising his glass and tipping it in thanks before trying to take a sip without getting a mouthful of plant. “How the hell is anyone supposed to get drunk if they can’t get the damn glass to their mouth?” 

Malfoy arched an eyebrow, slowly brought his drink towards him and wrapped his lips around the straw. Then had the gall to smirk.

“Bloody poncy bar with its stupid fancy-pants drinks,” Harry muttered as he too located the straw amongst the greenery.

“So. Dancing. We need to go somewhere I can move. Higgins mentioned this place that—” 

“No!” Harry cut him off abruptly. “This was your choice. It’s my turn to choose our next venue, and I know the perfect place. I think it’s only about a half hour walk away, maybe closer, unless you want to apparate?”

“I’m fairly sure if I was to apparate now, I’d be lucky just to lose an arm, and there is no way I trust you!”

“Hey! Oh, wait, fair enough. I don’t trust me either.” He shot Malfoy his best rakish grin. “Let’s finish these and go cut some rug.” 

“Cut some _what_ now?”

“Nevermind. Drink up, Draco!” Harry froze as the name fell from his lips. By unspoken agreement, they’d not moved from last to first name address. It felt strangely intimate to use Malfoy’s first name. Draco’s name. Draco. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, but then the corners of his mouth twitched up in a faint smile. “Whatever you say...Harry.” 

It was probably his intoxicated imagination, but to Harry’s ears, it sounded like he’d purred his name. His chest both tightened and felt fluttery at the same time as Draco’s gaze pinned him to his seat. It felt right; his name on Draco’s lips, Draco’s on his. They were Harry and Draco, and no one else mattered.

\--------

The walk to the club passed far too quickly for Harry’s liking, and as they neared their destination, he was tempted to take a small detour just to lengthen the journey. Every time Draco’s arm brushed up against his, which seemed to happen far more often than was usual for two friends walking together, it was like a jolt of electricity through Harry’s body. The brief touches were torturous, but Harry didn’t want them to stop.

The club Harry had taken them to was his favourite muggle nightspot. It was spread out over two floors; on the ground floor, there was a large seating area and the music was just quiet enough that you could speak without yelling, then upstairs was the main dance floor, where the focus was purely on dancing, and conversation was all but impossible.

If Draco had noticed the overwhelmingly high proportion of same-sex couples dancing around them, he didn't appear to care or feel the need to comment. He looked stunning under the strobing lights as he moved in time with the pounding beat, and was on the receiving end of more than a few appreciative glances. Harry felt like an uncoordinated hippogriff with four left feet compared to him, but he couldn't help but feel smug that it appeared from the outside that Draco was his. To be on the safe side, and protect Draco from any unwanted advances, Harry shuffled closer, reducing the gap between them to make it more obvious that Draco was with him.

At Harry’s suggestion (because he was exhausted, and not because he was sick of all the men trying to dance too close to Draco), they took a break from dancing and retired to the slightly quieter bar area on the ground floor. Draco had insisted on buying the round again so Harry had found a table and awaited his return, likely with another couple of brightly coloured cocktails rather than the beer he had requested. The music down here veered more towards generic pop songs, so Harry hummed and bopped his head along with the classic Britney Spears song that was currently playing while he waited.

It wasn’t long before Draco slid into the seat beside him, still looking sweaty and dishevelled from the dancing and alcohol, but his eyes were bright with amusement. Harry smiled fondly; he was feeling decidedly drunk now.

“You will never guess who I’ve just run into at the bar,” Draco said as he sat down. He had pressed himself against Harry’s side and his lips were so close to Harry’s ear, Harry had to suppress a shiver as he felt Draco’s breath play through his hair.

“Who?” He turned to look at Draco. It brought their shoulders further apart, but their legs pressed even closer together. Harry wondered whether Draco could feel his pulse racing through his thigh.

“That air-headed, blond, man-bimbo you were dating. Ray...Ralph... Chet—”

That got Harry’s attention. “You saw Rafe? He’s here?”

Draco smirked. “Didn’t just see him. We had a nice little chat. Why didn’t you tell me you broke up?”

“Oh, well, it just didn’t seem important. What did he say?”

“Nothing much. Mostly just warned me off you. Why did you dump him?”

“Oh, um, I didn’t. He dumped me.”

“Really!? What did you do?” Draco’s eyes were wide with glee as he leant in, clearly expecting a juicy break-up story.

“Merlin. You don’t have to sound so happy about it! I don’t know, he didn’t think I was attentive enough, or some bollocks like that.” Harry decided it was best not to mention the whole ‘saying someone else’s name in bed’ thing. Especially since the ‘someone else’ was currently sat uncomfortably close to him.

Draco sat back and tapped a slender finger to his lips. “Hmm, what do you say to making him jealous. Make him regret letting the great Harry Potter get away?”

“I’m listening...What do you have in mind?”

“Let’s give him a show. Come on— I saw him go upstairs.” Draco grinned and grabbed Harry’s hand, dragging him out of their booth. Harry was powerless to resist, and more than a little intrigued as to the ‘show’ they were going to be putting on. He stumbled after Draco, not noticing anything except the feeling of his hand in Draco’s.

\-----

It didn’t take long to spot Rafe, even in the heaving mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies. Draco positioned them so they were within Rafe’s line of sight and then, to Harry’s surprise, threw his arms around Harry’s neck and pressed himself up against him. 

Harry looked up at Draco, shocked. “What are you doing?” He shouted, leaning closer to be heard over the music.

“Putting on a show! It’s no fun if you don’t join in.” Draco’s lips brushed Harry’s ear as he shouted his reply. Harry’s head was swimming; whether from the booze, the thumping bass, or the feel of Draco’s hard chest pressing into his, he couldn’t tell. His arms hung limply at his side. What was he supposed to do with his hands? He thought his heart might beat straight out of his chest. Surely Draco could feel it? 

Harry shakily took a breath to try and calm himself, then hesitantly raised trembling hands and placed them on Draco’s hips. He glanced back up at his dance partner to find Draco watching him closely. He leant in and Harry felt his lips on his ears, breath fluttering the damp hairs behind.

“That’s better.” Draco purred. How did he manage to purr while shouting to be heard? All he could see, smell, and hear was Draco. Harry was convinced his insides were turning to jelly. If it wasn’t for his hands on Draco’s hips he would probably flop into a boneless heap on the floor. He tightened his grip to ensure this wouldn’t happen and felt Draco press himself even closer. “Just relax and follow my lead.” 

Draco leant in and rested his forehead against Harry’s. He was taller by a couple of inches and Harry had to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. Merlin but Draco was so close. His breath fanned across Harry’s face and his scent filled Harry’s nose. Everything was Draco. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He felt the music thrumming through his body and allowed Draco’s movements to guide him. There was nothing except Draco and the music and Harry.

They swayed and moved, still pressed tightly together. Draco slowly shifted his head to one side and Harry arched his neck up as he felt Draco’s stubble brush down his cheek. He had all but forgotten why they had ended up like this, but he was glad they had. 

“It’s working. He looks like he wants to kill me.” Harry’s eyes pinged open. That’s right, this wasn’t real. Draco was just ‘putting on a show’ to piss of Harry’s ex. The disappointment washed through him. He felt sick. He started to pull away, but Draco hugged him closer.

“Hey, we can’t stop now, it’s just getting good” He yelled in Harry’s ear. Harry looked at him. He knew he should put a stop to it before it got out of hand. Draco would never be doing this if he knew Harry’s true feelings, or if he was sober. It wasn’t fair on him, and it wasn’t fair on Harry. 

Draco’s eyes bored into his own and Harry knew he’d lost the brief battle with his conscience; both his libido and the booze conspired to work against him. Fuck it, he thought, might as well make the most of it. 

He wrapped his arms more tightly around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. He allowed his hands to wander. One slid upwards, the other slowly, tentatively, headed south. As his hand deliberately moved over the curve of Draco’s arse, he felt Draco tense against him, but it was for barely a fraction of a second, and he didn’t lose his rhythm with the music. Harry took this as a good sign and used the hand on Draco’s arse to pull their groins closer and—

—what was that? Harry froze mid-grope. Draco froze in his arms. There was a tell-tale hardness between them; in fact there were two, but Harry was well aware of his own inconvenient semi. Interesting. Ever the Gryffindor, he hesitantly ground his hips forward. He felt more than heard Draco’s breath catch in his throat. He pulled back his head slightly, keeping their bodies close, and studied Draco’s face as he ground his hips forwards again. Draco’s eyes fluttered shut and a shudder ran through his body. 

Feeling emboldened, Harry leant forward and brushed his lips against Draco’s. The other man pushed back, and suddenly they were kissing, wrapped around each other, hands no longer hesitant as they roamed and explored clothed bodies. Harry was fully hard now, his erection rubbing against Draco’s; delicious even through layers of clothing.

Draco kissed and sucked his way along Harry’s jaw, then nibbled at his earlobe. “We, ah, need to … take this...somewhere more private.” He growled into Harry’s ear in between licks. 

“Uh... yeah...you want to find an empty stall?”

“What!?” Draco reared back indignantly and Harry suddenly wondered whether he had got the wrong end of the stick. “I can just about bare to piss in a public bathroom, I’m not going to add to that list of activities. I was thinking—” He paused and sucked on Harry’s lower lip “—we could go somewhere private and _comfortable_ , like, your house?”

“Oh. Oooh.” Harry stared at him for a moment as comprehension set in. _Draco has a girlfriend!_ his brain screamed at him. This was a terrible idea. A really fucking terrible idea. This was a thousand times worse than the quickie in a bathroom stall he had suggested. He should say no, stop things now before it got any more out of hand. _But_ , his cock supplied, _Draco is very clearly not straight, and is very clearly into you._

Fuck it.

“Sure. Let’s go. We’ll get a cab.” Reluctantly, Harry untangled himself from Draco and they weaved through the crowded club, hand in hand, towards the exit.

\---- 

It was the longest and most torturous fifteen-minute cab ride of Harry’s life, even though he had spent most of it with Draco grinding on his lap, their lips mashed together, tongues exploring mouths. Eventually though, they stumbled through the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place. It was still heavily warded to protect his privacy, but Harry had removed the fidelius charm, which made it much easier to drunkenly bring men home (not that he ever did anymore since he generally stuck to shagging muggles, but it was good to know the option was there).

They hadn’t made it any further than the entrance hall. It was dark and Harry could barely see anything, but it didn’t matter because Draco had him pushed up against the wall, his hands under Harry’s shirt, mapping his chest, his mouth on Harry’s, nipping and sucking and licking, tongues warring. Harry fumbled with Draco’s shirt buttons, desperate to feel Draco’s skin against his own. 

“We should...uhhhh....Bedroom. Now.” Harry growled.

“Lead the way.” Draco stepped back and allowed Harry past, but not without slapping him on the arse as he went by.

“You’ll pay for that.” 

“Is that a promise?” That cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk would be the death of him, Harry thought. It took all of his self-restraint to drag Draco up the stairs to his room without slamming him into the wall and having his way with him in the corridor.

Harry didn’t bother to turn on any lights; he knew the way to his room well enough. Once there, he spun Draco round and pushed him back onto the bed. He looked more dishevelled than Harry had ever seen, lying back on Harry’s bed, propped up on his elbows with his shirt open, kiss-swollen lips, hair mussed up, and belt undone (when had that happened?), and he had never looked so perfect. His pale skin and hair seemed to glow in the light of the gibbous moon that cast through the open curtains. There was no need for extra lighting.

“Well come on then, or are you just going to stand there all night?” Draco asked brusquely. 

Merlin, but that pout! Harry yanked his shirt over his head and then after a moment’s thought, unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down, kicking them into the corner. His socks followed shortly after. He turned back to Draco, who was watching him through half-lidded eyes and palming his erection through his trousers. 

“You’re so perfect,” Harry whispered as he crawled up the bed. He licked and nipped his way up Draco’s chest, paying special attention to his nipples, enjoying the way Draco writhed and groaned deliciously beneath him. 

Draco’s hands trailed all over his back as if they couldn’t decide where to settle. Scratching down his spine, grazing his ribs, sliding under his boxers, grabbing his arse. Harry groped one handedly at Draco’s trousers, aching to feel their erections slide against each other without a barrier of clothing. 

And finally it was done. Clothing removed. Nothing but skin against skin. It was perfect. It was better than every last one of his fantasies this summer because it was real and it was happening now; and oh how he wished he was more sober so he could remember every exquisite second. 

They pushed, and rubbed, and ground against each other, neither backing down. 

“Want you. In me.” Draco grunted. He took them both in hand and Harry nearly lost it as Draco thumbed over his slit and used their combined precome to slick up their erections. Harry wandlessly accio’d the lube from his bedside cabinet and shuffled back to better position himself between Draco’s legs.

“Merlin that’s hot.” Draco hooked his hand behind Harry’s head and dragged him back up, mashing their lips together in a hungry kiss.

“Do you want fucking or not?” He asked breathlessly, grinning down at Draco.

“I’ve never wanted anything more”

Harry kissed him soundly then took his time preparing Draco with slicked up fingers. He marvelled at the way Draco was spread out before him, hard and wanting and desperate for Harry.

“Now. I’m ready. Do it. Need you.”

Harry pushed in slowly, studying Draco’s face for signs of discomfort. His whole body trembled from the effort of holding back. But then he was there, fully seated. He paused, giving Draco time to adjust, then at his nod, started moving slowly, carefully. They groaned together as they moved, and Draco grabbed him by the back of the head and dragged him up for an awkward kiss. 

“Harder. Fuck me like you mean it, Harry.” 

“I’ll give you ‘harder’” Harry muttered, thrusting deeper and harder and faster. The air was filled with the sound of groans and muttered curse words and skin slapping on skin. It was messy and frantic and noisy, but oh was it beautiful.

Harry felt rather than saw Draco reaching for his cock to finish himself off, so he batted his hand away and replaced it with his own, still slick with lube from earlier. He felt his orgasm approaching like a fire building in his groin, but he wanted, no, he needed to get Draco off first. He changed angles and suddenly Draco was crying out in ecstasy. He quickened his pace, matching the pace of his hand to his thrusts and in no time had Draco yelling out his name as he spilled all over his chest and Harry’s hand. A few more thrusts and Harry followed him over the crest. 

They stilled, breathing heavily; a sweaty, sticky, tangled mess. Harry slowly pulled out and flopped to one side, then cast a quick cleaning charm once he had got his breath back.

“It’s so fucking hot that you can do wandless magic,” Draco said sleepily as he burrowed into the blankets.

“Ha, I can only do the really useful spells.”

“Like ‘accio lube’ and ‘scourgify’..?

Harry laughed softly, feeling the tug of sleep on his sated body. “Yep. I’m inherently lazy,” he yawned. “Don’t want to interrupt a good wank by having to get up for anything.”

Draco chuckled and then sighed contentedly as Harry threw an arm around him and pulled him closer under the blankets. Harry nuzzled his nose into Draco’s hair and felt sleep take him almost immediately.


	8. Chapter 8

Something was wrong. It was bright. Too bright. He must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night. Draco turned his head further into the pillow to try and shield his eyes. Fuck. His head throbbed, like his brain was ten sizes too large for his skull, and his stomach churned. He thought if he could remain perfectly still, he might be able to avoid emptying his stomach contents all over his blankets. Skippy would not be pleased if he vomited in the bed. There was no _scourgify_ strong enough to completely remove the stench of vomit from a mattress. He took a few deep breaths and tried to will his stomach to settle down. As soon as he could sit up without puking, he resolved to go in search of a hangover potion.

Something moved beside him in the bed, interrupting his careful breathing and momentarily startling the nausea from him. Shit. He felt the bed dip, and then a solid weight slid up the outside of his leg and settled on his chest. Was it one of the cats? But they didn’t tend to slide. They usually preferred to leap straight onto his chest (or face) from the floor. What the fuck was—

—Oh, Salazar and Godric both. Memories of the night before came crashing back. There was Harry, and cocktails, and dinner, and dancing, and then what? He cracked an eye open then let loose a strangled cry as he came face to face with a very large, white, snake. What the ever-loving-FUCK was Snake-Draco doing in his bedroom? The snake’s tongue darted out and tickled Draco’s face. He let out an undignified yelp and shoved himself away from the snake, losing his balance and tumbling to the floor in a jumble of blankets and limbs. His naked skin slapped against the cool, hard floorboards, but he barely registered any pain, so focused as he was on trying to untangle his feet from the sheets and put more distance between himself and the serpent.

“What the—” A sleep-rough voice broke sound of Draco’s frustrated, panicky, struggling. Draco froze where he was crouched. Who said that? Why were they in his room? As soon as the thought ran through his head, and with the shock of waking up face to face with an 8ft constrictor receding, it suddenly occurred to him that no, he wasn’t, in fact, in his room. He quickly scanned his surroundings: a Gryffindor banner, photos of various ginger people, a Chudley Cannons scarf. The puzzle pieces slotted together to create a rather horrifying scenario.

He slowly got up from the floor and turned to look at the bed.

“Fuck,” Draco muttered.

“Shit,” Harry said simultaneously.

“For fuck’s sake Malfoy, put some clothes on.” Harry groaned, grabbing the pillow beside him and pressing it over his face.

Draco looked down and saw that yes, he was indeed very naked. He yanked a pillow off the bed and held it over his junk to try and preserve some modesty while he scrabbled around on the floor for his clothes.

“This is bad. Very bad. How could you do this to Ginny? Shit. She’s going to kill you. And then she’ll come after me and kill me too. Fuck.” Harry groaned. He still hadn’t pulled the pillow off his face so his words were muffled.

Patchy glimpses of the previous night’s...activities...flashed through Draco’s brain. Coupled with the dull ache in his arse, and his state of attire, it was very quickly apparent what they had done. He frowned, wondering why Harry cared what Ginny would think, but then he remembered that Harry didn’t know it was fake. Now would be a really a good time to own up...but she had wanted him to keep it secret... “It’s not as bad as you think—”

Harry whipped the pillow off his face and cut Draco off before he could finish his explanation, not that he’d had any idea what he was trying to say. “Not as bad? Draco, we didn’t just mess around a bit. We fucked! You cheated on Ginny!”

His brain knew he should tell Harry the truth— he _wanted_ to tell Harry the truth —but for some reason, his mouth wouldn’t comply. “She doesn’t have to find out. I won’t tell her. This doesn’t have to change things. We can still be friends.” He said, hoping that the desperation he felt hadn’t bled too much into his voice. 

Harry sat bolt upright in the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. “What!? I can’t believe you! If you want a dirty little secret to keep on the side, you’re looking in the wrong fucking place. You’re such an arsehole. How could you do this to her? How can I look her, or any of our friends, in the face knowing that I fucked her boyfriend? Fuck! You should go. Now. I can’t deal with this. Whatever this was between us is done.” He threw himself back down on the bed, his back to Draco, and yanked the sheets up over his shoulders, clearly indicating he was done with the argument.

Draco’s fear and panic at losing Harry’s friendship morphed into anger. How dare Harry lay this all on him. He hadn’t forced him to do anything. It was a mutual act!. And it had been Harry’s idea that they go out on the piss in the first place; it was Harry who had dragged them to a gay bar, so if anyone was to ‘blame’ it was Harry, clearly. (He conveniently chose to ignore the niggling doubt that suggested perhaps it had been him to suggest they go back to Harry’s.) “Fuck you, Potter.” He yelled as he finished dressing. He could feel tears prickling his eyes, but he refused to let Potter see him cry; he would not look weak or broken in front of him. Muttering angrily, he stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door hard behind him.

Once on the landing, he paused to consider his options: Leave via the front door and risk getting spotted fleeing Harry’s house in tears, try to find a fireplace and floo home, or risk apparating with a blinding hangover. He chose the latter, hangover be damned. He wasn’t going to waste another second of his life in this house. 

Without any further deliberation, he apparated straight to his bedroom, then promptly fell to his knees and threw up all over his rug. He remained hunched over on all fours, staring at the mess he had made for several minutes, unable to find the strength to move, let alone clean up. His head pounded, and his limbs felt weak and wrung out, but at least the nausea had abated slightly. He no longer tried to stem the flow of tears and allowed them to roll freely down his face, dripping off his nose and chin to join the mess on the floor. 

He was angry with stupid Potter, but he was furious with himself. He had let himself become too comfortable and vulnerable around him and had gotten himself hurt. He had known no good would come of his pathetic little crush, but he had still pursued it and indulged himself. To think he had considered Harry shitting Potter a friend, and a good one at that! No wonder his parents didn’t trust him to make his own choices; he was a disgrace to his name. He refused to let this happen again. He would lock any feelings away where they couldn’t get him into trouble.

Skippy apparated into the room with a sharp crack.

“Oh, Master Draco!” She wailed. He glanced up, intending to reassure her, but he must have looked awful because it had the opposite effect. “Oh, sir! Master Draco! Why is you not calling Skippy? Let Skippy take care of you! Skippy was so worried when you didn’t return, and look!” She banished the mess and scourgified the carpet with no more than a click of her fingers, then herded him towards his bed. “Come now, Master Draco. You must rest. Skippy will look after you.” 

She busied around him, ignoring his weak protests that he was fine and didn’t need mollycoddling, and made him undress and put on pyjamas. Then she forced him into bed, fluffed his pillows and tucked him in, with strict instructions that he was to rest until she deemed him well enough to get up. He put up a token resistance, but didn’t actually intend to disobey her; it was nice being looked after when he felt so lousy.

Draco didn’t sleep properly after she left. He couldn’t. His mind was busily trawling through everything that had happened the night before, but all he could remember was how handsome Harry had looked, and how good it had felt being with him, and how everything had been so perfect, which inevitably reminded him that it was all gone and he’d never have it again.

\-----

Draco’s mood still hadn’t improved after two weeks. He had at least made it out of bed and even gone to work, but as soon as he was within the sanctity of his home, he stopped pretending he was okay and slumped back into depression. Skippy was beside herself with worry and had even threatened to go against his orders and fetch his mother, but he knew she would never actually go through with it. Even so, he did his best to eat all the food she thrust upon him and let her mother him without complaint. It was the least he could do. Ginny, on the other hand, was far less sympathetic

“Right, that’s enough.” She stated one morning when he had actually dragged himself to breakfast. “I don’t know what’s messed you up these last couple of weeks, but you either need to snap out of it, or fix whatever it is that’s bugging you. It’s doing my head in, seeing you mope around this place.”

“Thanks for your concern. It’s good to know you’re on my side.” He muttered.

“How can I be on your side when you won’t even hint at what’s wrong? You realise there are rumours going around the team that you’re terminally sick, or that your parents have died? If one more person asks me if you’re okay, I’m going to insert my broom up their arse, bristles first.”

“Oh, that explains the flowers Winchenden sent me.” 

“So, what are you going to do?”

“About the flowers?”

“No, about this thing, this whatever-it-is that’s turned you into a miserable git. Snap out of it or fix it?”

“If it was as simple as that, don’t you think I would have done something already? Do you think I like feeling like this?” He snapped.

“Okay okay. Look, if this is something to do with Harry—” Draco stiffened at the mention of his name “—then you’re going to need to be the one to approach him and apologise or talk it out or fight, because he can be a stubborn little shit and he’s unlikely to make the first move.”

Draco kept his gaze firmly on his part-buttered toast, his knuckles white where he gripped the butter-knife. “What makes you think it’s anything to do with Harry? And maybe I don’t want to talk to him.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe because you two have been acting like BFFs all summer, and now all of a sudden you’ve stopped talking to each other and you’re both miserable as sin. It’s a bit of a coincidence.”

Draco studied his hands for a moment, toying with the idea of denying Harry’s involvement in his mood. He wasn’t about to spill everything, but seeing as she had already worked out the Harry part… “Fine. Yes, Harry and I have had a, ah, minor disagreement. Honestly, I don’t care if I never see him again.”

“Ugh, men! Suit yourself. If you’re not going to fix it, then bloody well snap out of it, or I’m going to start feeding your cats economy cat food.”

“You monster! You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

\-----

Despite his insistence that he wanted no more to do with Harry, later that day he found himself composing a letter suggesting to Harry that they meet to ‘talk things over’. He was still angry with Harry for implying that he was solely to blame for their current situation, but he had calmed down enough to see why Harry might be pissed off. After all, he was supposed to be in a loving relationship with Ginny; Harry wasn’t to know it was all a sham and that Ginny couldn’t care less whose bed he was in. He must have thought Draco was completely heartless to be so unconcerned about the infidelity. He was determined to explain everything to Harry as soon as he was able to convince the other man to meet with him face to face. He needed Harry to know he wasn’t a terrible person and that they could still be friends, or possibly more— now that he’d had a taste of what it was like being with Harry, he wasn’t sure he could settle for mere friendship.

_Harry,_  
I really think we need to talk about what happened. Let me know when and where you want to meet and I’ll be there.  
DM. 

There wasn’t much to show for an hour’s work, but it would have to do. Draco sighed and headed to the Manor owlery. With any luck, Harry would reply by the end of the day, then they could get this whole mess sorted and get things back to how they were before the week was out. 

\------

Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as Draco had planned, and three days later he was still waiting for a reply. After much internal debate, he sent a second missive.

_Harry,_  
I’m not sure if you received my previous letter. You didn’t reply so I’m going to assume not.  
We need to talk about what happened. Please respond with your availability and we can arrange to meet.  
DM. 

\-----

After suffering through a further few days, anxiously awaiting an owl from Harry, Draco composed another note, and then another, and another. He was starting to suspect that Harry was purposely ignoring him, and as each day passed with no response to any of his letters, Draco got increasingly annoyed. He sent one final note:

_I know you’re ignoring my letters. If I do not hear from you by Friday, I’ll visit you in the store. We really need to talk.  
DM._

He had considered spilling the truth about his and Ginny’s fake relationship in a letter, but he was worried about it getting intercepted. And as Harry seemed to be ignoring them, he didn’t think there would be much point anyway. Then there was the fact that he just really wanted to see Harry again and be in the same room as him, maybe share a drink or two and laugh about what a pair of idiots they both had been. 

\----------------

The weeks following the drunken one night stand with his former enemy were some of the lowest Harry had had in many years. He was angry at Draco, and he was angry at himself, but he was also disappointed. He’d been on the other end of the cheating before; he’d been the one being cheated upon, and he knew how much it hurt. His heart was breaking at the thought that the man he had grown to care about so much could be capable of causing that much pain to another person, and as much as he didn’t get on with Ginny anymore, he would never wish any hurt for her.

The guilt he felt at what he and Draco had done ate away at him. It was like a persistent ache in his bones, and no matter what he, or anyone else, did, he couldn’t shake himself out of his mood. He went through the motions of daily life— going to work, seeing friends, running errands —but Draco was never far from his thoughts. He was convinced someone would work out what they’d done and he lived in fear of Ginny bursting into his shop or his house and hexing his bollocks off. 

After being snapped at one too many times, Caro and Hermione eventually stopped asking about Draco and he knew they must suspect something had happened, but for the time being, they allowed him space to wallow. Although judging by the looks he was getting from Hermione, this reprieve was not going to last.

When Draco’s first letter turned up, Harry couldn’t bring himself to open it. The Malfoy crest on the seal made it clear who the sender was, but Harry had no desire to read any of Draco’s excuses or apologies. He should have thrown it straight in the bin, or better still, the fire, but for some reason, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do something so final. Instead, he put the letter, unopened, on his desk in the back room of the store, and spent the week intermittently glaring at it and ignoring it. 

The arrival of the letter, and Harry’s subsequent refusal to open it, did not go unnoticed by Hermione, if her pointed glares were anything to go by. And if he hadn’t noticed that, then the fact that the letter remained in plain sight on the desk even though everything else normally got hidden beneath leaflets, logbooks, and general desk-detritus after a day or two was a fairly good indicator that someone wanted him to notice it. At the arrival of the fourth or fifth letter, however, Hermione’s self-restraint crumbled. 

As had become normal over the past few weeks, Harry had spent the day doing menial tasks around the store, helping out with customers when required, but generally just trying to keep social interaction to a minimum. He was in the middle of refreshing the water bowls in the vivariums that ran along one side of the store when he became aware of a commotion down by the entrance. When he peered around the stacks to get a closer look, he saw several customers trying to dodge out of the way of a large eagle owl that was launching itself ungracefully from shelf to shelf, unable to extend its wings fully in the tight space. Upon spotting Harry, the owl changed direction and made a beeline towards him, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

The owl glared imperiously at Harry while he hesitantly retrieved the parchment from an outstretched leg. His heart sank when he saw the familiar Malfoy crest, but this was followed by fresh wave of anger that heated his cheeks and caused his vision to waver. Could the man not take a hint? Was it really necessary for him to send his largest, most obtrusive bird to deliver a letter that was clearly unwanted, damaging his store and upsetting both customers and animals? 

The owl didn’t wait for a treat. With its job done, it allowed itself to be herded out of the store by a slightly irate looking Caro. Harry crumpled the letter in his fist and went to chuck it on the pile with the others. Then he was going to burn the lot of them. 

“Harry, you can’t keep ignoring him.” Hermione stood in front of him, blocking his escape. He hadn’t even realised she was around today.

“Who says I’m ignoring anyone?” He snapped, not particularly in the mood for being lectured about how he useless he was as a human.

“I’m not blind, Harry. It’s fairly obvious that the unopened letters on your desk are from Draco. I also know that he’s not been around here for a while, and you’ve been acting like a bear with a sore head ever since his parents visited. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that you two have had some sort of falling out and now you’re refusing to speak to him.”

“How did you know about his parents?”

“Because I, unlike you, still talk to Ginny. You do remember who she is, don’t you?” Hermione said sarcastically. 

Harry scowled. Of course. He was never getting away from that woman. “It’s nothing. Draco just reminded me what a dick he is so I’d rather just forget we ever tried at the whole ‘friends’ thing. Those two deserve each other.”

“What could he have done that’s so bad you won’t even read his letters? Are you sure it’s nothing you can’t work past? This past summer is the happiest I’ve seen you in such a long time, Harry. I hate seeing you so miserable.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Please just drop it, Hermione. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine, but I’m here whenever you need to talk; about this or anything else.” She stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it softly. He smiled gratefully at her, then gathered her into a hug, feeling some of the tension drop from his shoulders. 

“Thanks ‘mione.” He said, and he truly meant it. He knew how hard it was for her to step back when she must be burning up with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

After breaking from the hug, he went to the back room, gathered up the other unread letters and chucked the lot in the bin. He briefly considered destroying them but thought that setting fire to things in a fit of pique might trigger another concerned intervention from Hermione.

\--------

Draco had spent the rest of the morning since sending Harry his final letter implementing a new organisational system in his client folders. It was fairly mindless and repetitive work, but the monotony calmed him. He was pulled from his task by the sight of a small owl flying haphazardly towards his office window, a sizable sheaf of parchment gripped in its talons. He hastily leapt up and threw the window open just in time for the owl to tumble through the opening and land ungracefully on his desk. There was a brief moment of stillness, then several of his files slid to the floor, spilling their contents over the rug. 

Draco cursed under his breath and started gathering up his work. The owl hopped to the edge of the desk and hooted at him apologetically, it’s over-large eyes watching him unblinkingly. 

“Fine. What is it?” Draco said exasperatedly. 

The owl nudged the bundle of parchment towards him and Draco instantly recognised his own handwriting. He grabbed the letters and flipped through them, his suspicions confirmed. It was every letter he’d sent Harry over the past few weeks, unopened. 

“That arrogant little shit.” He growled, causing the owl to shuffle back nervously. “Skippy!”

Skippy appeared with a crack. “Yes, Master Draco, sir?” 

“I’m going out. Please gather up these papers and sort them first by colour, then chronologically. If anyone calls tell them I’m busy.” He stood, and grabbed his jacket from where it hung over the back of his chair. The owl hooted softly from his desk. “Oh, and see this owl gets a treat before sending it on its way.”

“Right away, Master Draco. Good luck.” Skippy bowed low, her large ears scraping the floor.

Draco frowned at her. He wondered how much she actually knew, but decided now was the not the time to start questioning her. “Thank you, Skippy.” 

\------

It had only been a few weeks since he’d last visited Magical Menagerie, but a small part of Draco was surprised to see absolutely nothing had changed. There had been so much emotional turmoil in his life of late, he had half expected to see that reflected in the physical environment. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But it was surprising nonetheless.

The chime above the door jangled as he pushed it open, starting off the familiar cacophony of chirrups, squawks, hisses, and grunts. Caro was bent over the counter at the back of the store, and she looked up, a shop-keepers smile plastered on her face in preparation for welcoming the potential customer. She froze abruptly upon seeing Draco marching purposefully towards her, the bundle of letters brandished in front of him like a weapon. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, but Draco cut her off before she could utter more than a squeak.

“Where is he?” He demanded, slamming the letters on the counter. The chatter of creatures around them quietened, almost like they were trying to listen in.

To her credit, Caro recovered quickly from her shock at his aggressive entrance. “Draco! How nice to see you. What can we help you with? Do you need more cat treats?”

“I demand you tell me where that rude, selfish, waste of oxygen is right now. I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken to him.” He was dimly aware that making angry demands was probably not the best way to get Caro to cooperate. She was unlikely to be intimidated by his bluster, and would more than likely kick him out onto the street. But he was just so furious with Harry. 

With a great deal of effort, he tried to soften his stance slightly; it wasn’t Caro’s fault her employer was a complete arse. Caro’s shoulders relaxed as Draco visibly reigned in some of his anger. She still looked wary, but at least she didn’t appear to be moments from hexing him out of the store.

“I’ve not seen him. Why don’t you go home Draco? I’ll tell him you stopped by.” She spoke softly, calmly, like she was trying to soothe a distressed animal.

“No! I told you, I’m not leaving. You owl that wretched piece of shit and you tell him to get here immediately!” He punctuated his statement by slapping the letters back on the counter.

“Draco—” Whatever she had been about to say was lost, as the man in question burst through the door from the back room where he’d evidently been hiding.

“Where’d you get those?” Harry demanded, gesturing to the letters.

It took a split second to recover from the shock at seeing Harry emerge from where he’d been lurking. “It doesn’t matter where I got them,” he spat. “The fact of the matter is that you’ve not even read them! Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I had something to say to you? Are you that much of a stubborn, arrogant, selfish, arse wipe, that you can’t bring yourself to read a simple letter?” Draco glared at Harry, his chest heaving and his heart racing. Anger coursed through his veins, but there was also desperation. He couldn't lose Harry; if only he could make him understand.

“Just leave, Malfoy. Go away and don’t ever come back. We’ve nothing to speak about.” 

The use of his surname cut more deeply than the rest of Harry’s— No, Potter’s —words. Draco drew himself up. He would not be dismissed without a fair hearing. Harry— agh, Potter! Dammit —owed him that much. The letters sat forgotten on the counter.

“This isn’t all on me.” He growled. “You could have stopped anytime you wanted, but no, you’ve had your fun and now you’re back to hating me. Is this what you wanted all along? Use me for a bit of a distraction and then ditch me when it got too real?”

“It's not like that at all. I know we’re both at fault, but I’m not the one with a girlfriend! I thought you’d changed, I thought you were a good guy, but you’re not. You just as selfish and entitled as you ever were; taking whatever you want with no regard for anyone else. Well, I’m done. Get out of my shop and get out of my life.” Harry turned and stormed back through the doorway from where he had emerged, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry Draco, I really am.” Caro’s voice startled him. He wilted as the rage sapped out of him. He had been so ready for this confrontation; so sure that they would shout and fight, but that he would finally admit the truth and that Harry would forgive both Draco and himself, then they would go back to being friends. He should never have gotten his hopes up. Happy endings didn't happen for Malfoys. He glanced at Caro and felt his cheeks burning from the embarrassment of creating such a public spectacle of himself.

Caro watched him carefully, her eyes glittering with emotion. Draco wanted to speak, to apologise for being rude, but he didn’t trust his voice not to shake and betray him. He turned slowly and left the store, the letters abandoned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, and giving kudos.

Harry had been in two minds about whether to head to the Burrow for the traditional Sunday lunch get-together. He had skipped more family lunches than he attended since everything had turned sour between him and Draco because he was convinced they’d be able to see what had happened just by looking at the guilt in his eyes. He was fairly sure that no one knew, but Molly could be almost as perceptive as Hermione and he didn’t want to risk either of them working it out. Unfortunately, after hearing from Caro what had happened when Draco turned up at the shop, Hermione had not accepted any of his excuses. And that was how he found himself hunched over a bowl of potatoes in the kitchen of the Burrow on a warm early-Autumn afternoon rather than at home in his pyjamas with a tube of Pringles and an old film. 

Blocking out the sounds of the household bustling around, Harry concentrated on peeling the potatoes in the hope that he would be able to avoid any awkward, prying questions. As was often the case though, his luck didn’t run that way.

“Harry, dear, you will tell me what’s wrong, won’t you love? I hate seeing one of my boys so down.” Harry was focused so intently on the potatoes, he hadn’t even noticed Molly’s approach. It was only his quick reflexes that prevented him from stabbing his hand with the knife as the potato slipped out of his grasp.

“It’s nothing! I’m fine, seriously.” He gave Molly is most reassuring ‘there’s absolutely nothing wrong, please no follow up questions’ smile and turned back to his task.

Molly was not to be deterred so easily. “Is it boy trouble? Hermione mentioned that you and Rafe weren’t together anymore.”

Harry looked up, shocked that she even knew about Rafe. They’d barely been together a few months, and he’d never even mentioned him to the Weasleys. “How did— When did— Ugh, nevermind. No, it’s nothing to do with Rafe.”

“Good, good. He was never good enough for you anyway. Never trust the ones that care more about their looks than their manners, is what I always say.” 

“You’ve never thought anyone is good enough for me!”

“That’s because you’ve not yet met the perfect person.” Harry’s thoughts briefly turned to Draco, but he angrily shut them down before they could go too far down that route.

“Well, if you could let me know when I do, that would be great.” He said despondently.

“Of course dear. That’s what Mums are for. Don’t worry, you’ll find him one day.” She gave him a one-armed squeeze and stretched up to press a kiss to his cheek. It took all of his resolve not to turn around and bury his face in her apron. He was so grateful to have Molly, and in that moment he didn’t regret coming for lunch. 

Molly bustled away, monitoring the various charms that were working away on dinner prep, and shouting instructions to anyone brave or stupid enough to wander into her line of sight. Harry sighed and grabbed another potato from the bowl. He knew Molly probably had a spell that could peel them faster and better, but he was glad she’d taken pity on him and allowed him to hide out in her kitchen.

\----

Everyone was settling down to eat when the front door opened. Harry had his back to it, so he couldn’t see who it was, but he wasn’t immediately concerned; it was quite common for various family members to show up randomly during the course of the day. The silence that fell after the door had opened however aroused his interest slightly. 

Then one of the newcomers spoke and all the blood drained from his face. Each word hit him like a punch to his stomach, knocking the oxygen from him.

“Hi, sorry we’re late. Draco’s been so busy with work.”

There was an awkward pause as everyone seemed unsure of how to respond, but then Molly got up and welcomed them both with hugs. She proceeded to pepper them with questions as she summoned a couple of chairs and squeezed them in around the table, while everyone else chimed in with their own greetings and handshakes and hugs. 

Harry stared resolutely at his plate. He was convinced Ginny would be able to tell that he’d fucked her boyfriend just from looking at his face, that’s if Draco hadn’t already told her (he was fairly sure she would have hexed his balls off if Draco had actually said something), so he decided the best course of action was to just avoid looking at her until after lunch when he could go home and never return to the Burrow again. 

He felt a hand on his thigh and almost leapt back from the table in shock until he realised the hand belonged to Hermione, who was sat beside him. Her brown eyes were wide with worry, eyebrows knotted together. Harry couldn’t bear to meet her gaze for more than a moment or he feared he might break down, throw up, or both.

Hermione leant into him and spoke quietly enough that only he could hear. “Are you okay?” 

He smiled at her and squeezed the hand that was resting on his thigh. He loved her for supporting him even though he’d been evasive and shitty and not a particularly good friend recently. He only hoped that she would continue to be so supportive once everyone found out about him and Draco (he was under absolutely no illusion that it would stay a dirty little secret forever— that sort of thing had a habit of coming out eventually).

He smiled at her, hoping he could convey all his gratitude and apologies in that one simple action. “Yeah, fine. Don’t worry.” He replied. She returned his smile, and then with one last worried glance, returned her attention to the rest of the table.

\------ 

Lunch was awful. Truly awful. Not the food, especially not the masterfully peeled potatoes, but having to sit there at the same table as Ginny and Draco with the extended Weasley family was like some form of cruel punishment. He would have preferred to sit through an intimate dinner with Umbridge. He studiously ignored the end of the table where they sat, but he could still hear their voices and imagined he could feel their eyes boring into his skull throughout the whole uncomfortable meal. 

His plan to dash off straight after lunch was thwarted by a combination attack from the senior Weasleys; Molly continuously refilled his coffee and plied him with cake, while Arthur kept quizzing him about the accessories on the new Dyson he’d acquired from Merlin only knew where making it near impossible to escape the sofa. To make matters worse, every time he looked up and cast a glance around the room, he caught sight of Draco, standing awkwardly beside Ginny, always on the edge of conversations, his head jerking away as if he’d just been staring at Harry. It galled him that no matter how hard he tried to ignore the blond, his eyes seemed constantly drawn to him, so he spent a lot of time scowling at the back of Draco’s head.

Dusk was falling by the time Harry finally managed to escape from the living room, pleading an over-full bladder. It wasn’t the complete escape back to the peace and quiet of his home that he wanted; Teddy was demanding one more game of exploding snap before he had to go home with Andromeda, and Harry had never been able to refuse that boy anything. However, on his way back from the bathroom, he was able to sneak outside and enjoy a few moments of solitude in the garden before having to head back in.

He stood a short distance from the house and gazed across the garden to the fields beyond, deep in thought. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but it wouldn’t be long now, the sun was already so low. Mist hung over the fields and tendrils snaked into the garden, giving everything an eerie, hazy cast. It was late September, and the day had been beautifully warm, but the evening air was laced with Autumn chill. Harry shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, not quite willing to head back inside. He didn’t often find himself overwhelmed by large family gatherings, but the guilt of what he’d done, combined with the fear of being found out had set him on edge and made him crave some time alone. He had to tell Ginny, there was no way he could continue like this, but he wasn’t sure he was prepared for the fallout. Would Molly and Arthur still see him as a son? Would Ginny castrate him? Would Hermione and Ron abandon him? It was strange being on the other side of things; being ‘the other man’ rather than the one being cheated upon. Would telling Ginny actual achieve anything other than alleviating his own guilt? No, he wouldn’t tell Ginny, not right now, he decided. He was ill-equipped to deal with this and he needed advice; he would have to speak to Hermione. She would tell him what to do...if she still wanted to speak to him after she found out.

A spike in the noise drifting from the house indicated to Harry that someone had opened a door or window, but he didn’t turn round. If they wanted him, they would speak, if not, if like him they were after a brief moment of peace, they’d probably find their own quiet space away from him. He held his breath and focused on the sounds he could hear, listening for a clue as to whether he was about to be interrupted or not, but when heard nothing, he assumed the person hadn’t ventured outside.

He didn’t expect that person to pad silently up behind him before announcing their presence. 

“Harry, I—”

Harry startled at the voice and spun around, heart in his throat, wand in hand, and came face to face with Draco.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Malfoy!” He yelped, clutching his hand to his chest. When Draco didn’t speak immediately, the adrenaline from the shock was slowly replaced by anger. Anger at Draco’s presence at the Burrow, anger at Draco wheedling his way into Harry’s group of friends so there would never be any escape from him, and anger at Draco thinking he could sneak up on him and try and catch him unawares when Harry had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with him.

“What do you want?” Harry growled. “Either say what you came here to say or fuck off and leave me alone.”

Draco frowned. He seemed to be battling with himself internally. Then, just as Harry’s patience was nearing its end, he spoke. “I need to tell you something, but I need to you to know that it was never my intention to hurt you or lie or keep secrets.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Part of him wanted to run away, another part wanted to pause the conversation while he sought out advice from Hermione, but a large part— the part that tended to get him into trouble —was intensely curious about what Draco could possibly have to say with an intro like that. “Go on...”

“Look, when I started this thing with Ginny, it seemed like such a good idea, you know? She’s such a strong, capable woman, and I’d not been in the UK for a while so it was nice to have company, and it pissed off my parents—”

“What the fuck?” Harry angrily cut Draco off. He changed his mind; he had absolutely no desire to hear Draco’s arguments and excuses. Fuck curiosity. “If you’re trying to convince me to keep my mouth shut so you can salvage your relationship, don’t bother. You’re a shitty boyfriend for cheating on her, but she’s a shitty girlfriend so you deserve each other.” He shouldered past Draco, with the intention of going back inside, but Draco caught him by the wrist, preventing him from getting any further. 

“Harry, wait! Just hear me out, please, then you can go take out a full page ad in the Prophet for all I care. Please, Harry.”

Harry said nothing, but he stopped trying to yank his arm out of Draco’s grip. Evidently taking it as a sign Harry would listen, however grudgingly, Draco continued, the words tripping over themselves as he raced to get them out before Harry’s patience wore off.

“It’s not real, Harry. It was never real. We pretended to be a couple so our parents would stop trying to marry us off, and it pissed them off too because come on, a Weasley and a Malfoy, but then I met you again, and you were so...so... you! And we got on so well, and it felt so perfect and it was everything I ever wanted, and I never imagined you might like me back, but I think you did. Please forgive me for keeping it from you. I’ll do anything just to have you back as a friend if nothing else. ”

Harry took a moment to process what Draco had said, trying to make some sense of his rambling. It sounded very much like he had said he wasn’t with Ginny, which meant that he hadn’t technically cheated on her, but also meant that Harry had spent the last few weeks feeling like crap, feeling like some sort of dirty secret, for no reason. He felt his anger rising back to the surface, but he tried his best to swallow it down.

“You’re not fucking Ginny? And you didn’t think that was something I should know?” He kept his voice calm and level, but there was no mistaking the emotion bubbling under the surface.

“Ugh, no, we’re not fucking, nor have we ever. I wanted to tell you, I swear I did, but Ginny didn’t want anyone to know. She thought it would get back to her parents and they’d find us out.”

“So what you’re saying is that you don’t trust me, but you trust Ginny? You know what she did to me, right?”

“That’s not what I meant! Of course I trust you, but Ginny doesn’t!" He paused and ran a hand through his hair, dishevelling his usually well-kempt look. "Look, I was wrong, okay, I fucked up. I wish I’d told you, but honestly, when we spent time together, Ginny was the last person on my mind. Please just tell me what you need from me to make this better. I need you back in my life. I...I want to do things properly. With you, I mean.”

“Properly? Like what? Are you asking me out?”

“Um, yes? If that’s what you want.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. This was definitely not how he envisaged his Sunday evening going. “Why did you let me think I’d made you cheat on Ginny for so long? I’ve felt like absolute shit these last few weeks.”

Draco blinked at the change in direction but quickly recovered. “I tried to tell you! You refused to even receive my owls, let alone speak to me.”

“So it’s my fault?” 

“No! Well...maybe a bit. If you hadn’t been such a stubborn, pig-headed, hippogriff and agreed to speak with me, this whole misunderstanding could have been cleared up weeks ago.”

“Wow, do you always insult guys you’re trying to ask out?”

“I—”

“Hold up— No need to answer that. I’ve known you long enough to know it’s true.” He grinned, and watched as Draco’s outrage turned to resignation, and then to amusement.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, each studying the other. Harry wanted to stay mad at him, he really did, but as he stood there, looking at Draco for the first time since that awkward morning-after, he found it increasingly difficult to hold onto his irritation. 

“If you’re serious, and I mean really serious, about doing things properly, then you have to end things with Ginny. I’m not being your ‘bit on the side’.”

“But it’s not real, there’s nothing to end!” Draco protested.

“Yes, but no one else knows it’s not real. Publically break up with her, then maybe I’ll agree to go on a date with you.”

Draco looked like he was about to argue but then smirked. “You want an actual date? I assumed we’d just be fucking.”

“What!?” Harry couldn’t believe it. Had he read Draco wrong? Had that connection he’d felt with the other man been completely in his head? How could he have been so stupid? How—

“Kidding! Kidding. You’re too easy sometimes.” Draco grinned as Harry’s mouth fell open.

“You utter bastard,” Harry said as he shoved Draco semi-playfully in the chest. Draco grabbed his arms to steady himself, but Harry was already overbalanced so he stumbled backwards, dragging Harry down on top of him as he fell to the ground.

“This jumper is cashmere!” Draco cried as he struggled beneath Harry. 

Harry wasn’t going to let him off that easily though. They wrestled on the damp grass, each vying for the dominant position. Eventually, panting heavily, Harry was able to pin Draco’s arms to the ground, either side of his head.

Harry grinned down at Draco, enjoying the way the soft light from the house played across his features, tinting his skin with gold. “Do you give up?” 

“Never!” Draco shouted.

Harry smirked. “Looks like we’ll be here a while then.” 

Draco bucked his hips up, presumably to try and dislodge Harry, but Harry’s body interpreted it very differently. He shuddered and exhaled shakily, hesitatingly returning the pressure. Draco’s eyes darkened as he suddenly caught up with what was happening. He rolled his hips up again, slower this time, and with no intention of trying to remove Harry from above him.

Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Draco’s. Their faces were only a few inches apart, but it felt simultaneously too close and not close enough. He could feel Draco’s growing erection pressing into his own as they continued their slow grind. All thoughts of Ginny and the multitude of Weasley’s that were only metres away inside the house flew further from his mind each time Draco’s groin ground into his own.

He leant down slowly, Draco’s breath playing across his face with each heavy exhalation. Their noses touched. Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart. They were breathing each other in. Their bodies were pressed tightly together; writhing, grinding. Still the distance, however minute, remains between their lips. It’s as if they both knew that the moment their lips touched, there would be no going back. Up until that point it’s still ‘wrestling’; it’s intimate, but could still be denied. 

Draco moaned and closed his eyes. Their movements quickened as they each chased their pleasure. A tiny fraction of Harry’s brain was screaming at him to stop, to slow down, to STOP DRY HUMPING DRACO FUCKING MALFOY RIGHT OUTSIDE THE WEASLEY’S FRONT DOOR. But he had long surrendered control of his body to the whims of his cock so he could do no more than ignore the irritating buzz of common sense and hope that it would understand when his cock relinquished its power.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He was close, so close. He felt Draco’s lips ghosting across his own and surrendered himself to the inevitable. All distance between them was gone, the last barrier broken as their lips crashed together. It was messy and desperate and he never wanted the feeling to end. He could have kept kissing Draco forever and it wouldn’t be long enough. He—

“What the bloody fucking hell is going on!?” Ron’s outraged cry shattered the stillness of the night and instantly cut through the haze of pleasure like a hot knife through butter. 

“Ronald! Mind your— oh. Oh. Everyone inside! Now!” Molly’s frantic shouts killed the last vestiges of Harry’s arousal. 

Harry leapt back from Draco, scrabbling across the ground on his arse to put some distance between them and maybe pretend like he wasn’t seconds from coming in his trousers like a horny teenager. It was completely futile. Even if he hadn’t just been caught mid-rut, his dishevelled appearance, mud-caked knees, and a rather unmistakable bulge in his jeans pretty much spelled out what he’d been up to. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Draco, but he was fairly certain the other man’s appearance painted the same picture.

Despite Molly’s insistence that everyone should go inside, a steady flow of Weasley’s were filtering outside, drawn by the call of juicy gossip. If there was something Molly didn’t want them to see, it must be good.

As each person drew their own conclusions from the scene in front of them, other angry voices joined Ron’s.

“I’m going to kill him!”

“I’m going to kill them both!”

“Ginny’s going to be devastated.”

“Where is she? She can’t find out like this.”

The woman in question pushed her way to the front of the crowd, a glass of wine in one hand. “What’s going on? What can’t I— Oh. Wow. Well that certainly escalated quickly.” Ginny’s voice silenced the rabble that had spilled out of the front door, and momentarily, attention was diverted to her from Harry and Draco.

A movement to his left caught Harry’s attention. He glanced to the side and saw Draco had stood up and now appeared to be trying to straighten out his clothes and bring back some order to his hair. He quickly followed suit, not wanting to be the only one sat in the dirt. He caught Draco’s eye and offered a faint smile which Draco returned weakly. Harry had never seen him looking so vulnerable. It tugged at his heart. He realised Draco must think he was about to be abandoned; that the Weasleys would surely blame him over Harry. He closed the distance between them and without a moments' thought held out a hand. His way of silently telling Draco that he wasn’t alone. Draco looked between the hand, Harry, and the mass of angry ginger people, then, to Harry’s relief, hesitantly reached out and clasped it in his own. Harry entwined their fingers and pulled Draco towards him so they were standing shoulder to shoulder.

“Would someone mind explaining to me just what the bloody fuck is going on?” Ron shouted over the rising noise of the gathered crowd. The only person who didn’t look concerned or angry was Ginny, and this was causing more than a few confused glances. 

Harry felt Draco tense beside him so he gave his hand a squeeze. He caught Ginny’s eye and tried to nonverbally indicate that he was sorry for ruining her and Draco’s ruse (although not very sorry- he was mostly just embarrassed that they’d been caught in the act by Molly Weasley, of all people.)

Ginny smirked, a dangerous glint in her eye, then clasped a hand against her chest melodramatically. “Oh Harry! Draco! How could you!” She cried, sounding very much like a spurned lover. 

More than a few wands were pulled and pointed in Harry and Draco’s direction. Harry's mouth fell open in shock. Had Draco lied to him? Was the relationship real? He turned to glare accusingly at Draco, but Draco looked just as surprised as he did.

“It’s not- We’re not- I- It’s not real! I swear!” Draco spluttered.

Ginny rolled her eyes and laughed, seemingly oblivious to the escalating tension all around her. “Oh, calm down everyone. You too, Ron. Me and Draco were never real. We just wanted to stop everyone hassling us to settle down.”

“It was fake? Oh thank Merlin.” Ron’s relief was reflected many times over by the other Weasleys and the noise of the crowd rose as everyone had their say and sought clarification from Ginny.

Harry and Draco stood motionless, hand in hand, unsure of what to do. 

“So what’s with those two?” Ron asked Ginny, gesturing at Harry and Draco. The rabble had died down now everyone had more or less satisfied themselves that Ginny’s honour didn’t need defending (not that she would have allowed anyone to do that).

“No idea. That was never part of the plan. Congrats you two,” Ginny said, raising her glass in salute. “Glad you two dorks finally got your shit together!” She took a swig of her wine and headed back indoors. 

Molly shot her an exasperated glance, but then set to work herding everyone in after her daughter. 

Harry swallowed nervously as she approached. “I’m glad you’re happy, love, but next time maybe try and find somewhere a bit more private.” Molly smiled and patted him affectionately on the arm, then did the same to Draco before following everyone inside and shutting the door behind her.

Harry’s face was on fire. He kept his gaze resolutely on the floor while he waited for the embarrassment to dissipate. There was no way he was going to be able to look Molly in the eye again.

Draco was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Does that count as a break-up? Am I allowed to take you on a date now?”

Harry looked up from his feet and grinned at Draco. “I suppose it will do.” He cupped Draco’s jaw in his free hand and leant up to kiss him.

“Ahem.” Harry and Draco guiltily broke apart and looked round. Ron and Hermione were stood together by the front door. Hermione was beaming, but Ron had the look of someone who’d eaten something that didn’t agree with them.

“So this is really happening? You and Draco are really a thing?” Ron asked, eyes darting between the pair of them.

“Oh shush Ron, it’s about time they saw sense.” Hermione said, whacking him on the arm.

“Er, yeah? I guess we are?” Harry said looking questioningly at Draco. It was a bit soon to be labeling things, wasn’t it? Harry didn’t want to presume, but he really hoped Draco was as willing and eager to explore this development in their relationship as he was.

“Most definitely.” Draco said to Harry. He turned to address Ron and Hermione. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to take him home so we can do our ‘thing’ somewhere more private, as I believe that’s what your mother suggested.”

Ron baulked, but Harry swore he could almost see the hearts popping out of Hermione's eyes as she continued to beam at them.

Before anyone could say anything more, Draco apparated himself and Harry to his bedroom and they very quickly continued from where things had got interrupted earlier.

\--------

“One thing I don’t understand,” Harry said later that night when they were curled up together in Draco’s bed, “is how you got hold of those letters. Last I saw, they were in the bin.”

Draco lifted himself up from where he’d been lying with his head pillowed on Harry’s chest and glared at him. “You threw my letters in the bin?!”

“Hey, they were bin-free for ages! Unopened, yes, but not discarded. You should be thankful I didn’t burn them. It was a close run thing. If Hermione hadn’t been hanging around trying to guilt me into reading them, glaring at me 24/7, and arranging them chronologically on my desk every time they got pushed to one side ...wait...”

Draco pouted and flopped onto his back, his arms folded across his chest. “I can’t believe you expect me to be grateful that you only threw my heart-felt correspondence in the bin instead of burning them!”

“‘Heartfelt’ my arse! I read them after you came to accost me in the shop. We need to have words if that’s your idea of heartfelt’.”

“Ah. Well. A lot of effort went into their composition, I’ll have you know.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?” Harry grinned fondly at Draco and leaned over to press a kiss to his temple. “Anyway, as I was saying, It was Hermione who sent the letters back to you, I’m sure of it.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because she knew you’d fly into a rage and come to fight me. She was pretty set on us ‘talking it out’ or whatever.”

“Ah, yes, perhaps we should speak to her about not attempting to play cupid in the future. I was ready to confringo your bollocks off, and I would have deeply regretted that by now.” He playfully slid his hand down Harry’s chest and cupped his (thankfully unharmed) testicles, squeezing gently and teasing with his fingers.

Harry arched into the touch and groaned. “Yes, ah, that would, uhhh, have been a shame.” He hooked a hand around Draco’s neck and dragged him in for a kiss, abruptly putting an end to any further talk of letters or Hermione.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr! - coriesocks


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